


Gathering Petals

by LanaBerry



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A lot of subtle flower meanings, Also created a fake town for this, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blodeuwedd - Freeform, Blow Jobs, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Everyone lives in it, Falling In Love, Flower Crowns, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Slow Build, Viktor is literally made of them, Welsh mythology - Freeform, a lot of flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-17 16:58:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 63,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11855853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LanaBerry/pseuds/LanaBerry
Summary: "The myth goes that the forest is haunted by a woman made entirely of flowers, said to be the most beautiful being on earth. Of course, it's all just stories and folklore. We've all been in the forest and none of us have seen anything."But Yuuri has. And he knows it's not a woman that walks the forest, but a man, with long silver hair that shines in moonlight, and bluer eyes than any ocean he's ever seen.





	1. Daffodil

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with another story! As you can see, this will be far shorter, with a ten chapter limit for the entire thing. This is based on a well-known myth from my country, though I have changed quite a bit of it to fit in with this story. Please enjoy!

Yuuri rushed as quickly as he could through the crowd, slipping between forms, all the while muttering, “Excuse me, please, thank you,” until the words no longer made sense to his own ears.

The streets were packed, as they were this time of year. It was high spring, a new dawn for the new year, bursting with colour. Spring, for so long, had been the most important time to Dewin Oak, a small set town in the middle of a vast forest at the bottom of a valley. It was the time that the mountain side blushed with flowers, the trees rustled with new leaves, and the animals were roaming. Perhaps once, the town might have been cut off from the outside world because of its odd placement, but now welcomed groups of tourists all year round.

But especially spring, when the small town hosted its annual Flower Festival, celebrating the new coming season and the nature all around them. The Flower Festival, consisting of only a day celebration, where it was compulsory to wear colour, flowers in your hair, flowers tied to clothes, or flower crowns. That was where Yuuri came in.

Leading up to the Flower Festival was when Yuuri was his busiest. His little shop, attached to his house and nestled at the outskirts of the town, was bombarded with orders from tourists and locals alike. He had begun making flower crowns as a hobby, and soon found he had an aptitude for it. His parents, owning the local bath house, had urged him to follow his own dreams rather than inheriting. So he did, and opened a shop, and had been able to pay his own way ever since. And as the last dregs of winter melted away, making way for the green of spring, Yuuri never got time to himself anymore.

Chris had been the first to place his order, asking for a crown of blue roses to don for the upcoming festival. And, as if suddenly reminded, the town soon followed. With the locals came the tourists, drawn to the small town because of its history and legends.

Of which they had many. Many. But one being the most known – Blodeuwedd. The most beautiful woman on earth, crafted from flowers to be wife to the king hundreds of years ago. As many myths were of the time, it did not end happily – after an affair and a plot to kill her husband, the young woman was burned and transformed into an owl, forever to haunt the woods around them. Yuuri grew up being told that every time he heard the hoots from the woods, it was the beautiful woman calling for her lost love.

The tragic story soon spurred the town to honour her, creating the Flower Festival. And, in turn, drew tourists every spring. It was a lucrative time for the town, despite the lack of privacy, and that money carried them through the autumn and winter when the seasons were quiet.

But that wasn’t right now. Right now, the streets were littered with tourists clutching at their cameras, speaking languages Yuuri had never heard before. It was easy to spot them from a crowd. Many wore shorts, despite whatever weather, hats, regardless of if the sun was out, sunglasses, even during the evenings, and a wonder on their face that only someone unfamiliar with the town could wear. Yuuri didn’t much like them, honestly. Because as he tried to elbow his way through them, many didn’t take notice of him, or if they did then they wanted to know what it was in his hands.

A box, plain and brown, was balancing precariously in his grip. Inside, a mesh of coloured paper kept the flower crown safe. He had woven it himself, of real roses, thorns snipped and petals bright, measured perfectly for Christophe Giacometti’s head. The light blue would bring out the blond on his hair, framing his tanned face perfectly. He should have known, he’d lost enough sleep coming up with the perfect image.

Finally, he managed to weave his way through the main square and avoided a group of Chinese tourists clamouring to photograph the fountain in the middle, the structure one of the last things besides the cobblestones they stepped on that had aged with the town. The old houses had been torn down to make way for the new, and the roads dug up to create more solid structures. A way for the outside world to get in. The town had fought to keep the forest around them, however. The council had wanted to cut them down to make a meadow, and potentially more area to make apartments, restaurants and tourist attractions. But the town had claimed it as a historical monument and so the forest stayed.

When he was finally out of the crowds, he carefully placed the box under his arm and bent to breathe his air back into his squished lungs. The chatter of the many tourists squawked behind him. They’d be making their way to his parent’s bath house soon, once the midday sun began to set.

He sneaked through the carefully maintained alleyways to Chris’ house, also sitting far away from the main square – as any local’s was. No one wanted to be in the middle of the town when Saturday nights rolled around. Especially not in tourist season.

He rapped on the door twice, and was answered with a Swiss man that had newly bathed if the dressing gown and the droplets on his hair meant anything. His eyes widened when he saw the box Yuuri clutched, his hands flying to cover his mouth.

“Is this it?” he asked, the accent still thick in his voice despite having lived in the town for a decade now.

 

Yuuri held the box before him. His own accent hadn’t died down much either, he supposed, not since his parents had moved him and his sibling here many years ago. “Yes, here’s the finished product.”

 

“May I open it?”

 

“It’s yours to do with what you wish,” Yuuri gave a chuckle.

 

Chris took the box from his hands and gently opened it. He moved the white paper away and revealed the blue of the roses, bright but natural. With only a few days left until the festival, they would keep well. Chris’ eyes widened, a slight gasp leaving his lips.

 

“It’s beautiful. You’ve outdone yourself, Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri tried to kill the blush that was rising in his cheeks, but was unable to. “Thank you.”

 

Chris reluctantly covered the flower crown again and re-placed the lid of the box. He placed it under his arm. “Have you many more orders?”

 

Yuuri shook his head. “I’ve managed to get most of them done, only a few left.”

 

“And how many sleepless nights have you had?”

 

Yuuri paused. “Only a few.”

 

Chris placed a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Go home and rest now. People will understand if their crowns are later than expected. You are only one man.”

 

“I know, but I need to get them done before the festival-”

 

“It’s still a few days away.” Chris’ hand tightened in comfort. “If you need any help, you know I will gladly provide it. As well as many around here.”

 

“I know. I know.” It was just that there wasn’t much that help could do. He was a perfectionist, and help would only hinder him. “I best be off then. I’ve nearly finished Phichit’s. His was one of the last ones because of course he wants an intricate one.”

 

Chris chuckled. “Of course. Well, get some rest, Yuuri.”

 

“I will,” he promised, before he bid farewell and left to head towards the main square once more.

 

The main square often seemed lost in time. Even now, in the twenty-first century, Yuuri sometimes felt transported back hundreds of years as soon as he stepped onto the cobblestones. The fountain was old stone, carved whoever knew how long ago, with a woman standing atop a ball of flowers. She was naked, a string of roses covering the intimate body, her hair long and even glossy in stone, expression melancholy. On top of her head sat an owl, staring out into nothing with its dead gaze. Some of the shops surrounding the square had been decorated to follow the theme, overloaded with baskets of flowers, and beams stained brown. Only hints of the modern times had found their way into the square, save the tourists – the cars that had been parked beside the café on the corner, the bikes leaning against the lampposts, florescent lights to bathe the square in warmth when the sun set behind the trees. During the winter, the fairy lights lit up the trees. But for the moment, they lay dormant.

 

It was rare that the locals found their way into the square at peak of spring unless it was for the festival. The tourists drove them out. But there were a few of the rebellious ones who did, such as Phichit who loved to meet the comings and goings of strangers, though he wasn’t here today. JJ loved to walk the cobblestones in the hopes that a fellow countryman might recognise him, the man who had once been a model as a boy and on every Canadian magazine. And then there was another, little Yurio who was in the midst of his angsty teenage years, leaning against the wall of the pharmacy with his hood pulled over his blond hair. He had his hands jammed into his pockets.

 

Yuuri paused on his way home, watching Yurio. After a second, he began to make his way to the young teen.

 

“Yurio?”

 

His head snapped up, and Yuuri caught a quick glance of what he thought might have been worry before Yurio’s face grimaced. “What?”

 

“What are you doing here? Where’s your grandfather?”

 

“Taking Potya to the vet.”

 

“Is she alright?”

 

“She’s fine,” Yurio snapped. “Just a check up because she got into a fight.”

 

Yuuri couldn’t help the smile that slipped on his face. Like owner, like pet, huh. “And why are you just hanging around here?”

 

Yurio shrugged.

 

Yuuri sighed. The boy had always been angry as a child, but his teenage hormones only made his temper shorter. And as it seemed to be with any teenager, he seemed to hoard hoodies without having seemingly bought any. He asked Yurio, “Want to come and help me with some of the crowns? Not make any, but I need someone to help take the thorns off the roses?”

 

Yurio seemed to consider for a moment, before he shook his head. “Grandpa should be finishing soon. I promised to meet him outside of the town hall.”

 

“Okay. But if you’re ever bored, you know where to find me.”

 

“Right.”

 

Yurio was ready to turn, but as they did, a group of nattering old woman hobbled by. In their arms were baskets of freshly purchased fruits and bread, cloaks pulled tightly over their shoulders. But it was their words that halted both Yurio and Yuuri as they chattered loudly.

 

“Honestly, Maria,” the closest said. “I saw her, right in the forest. I went picking mushrooms along my normal path and there she was, in the clearing beside the pond. Just as beautiful as the stories say!”

 

“Was she really made of flowers?”

 

“Oh, gorgeous flowers. Hundreds, no, thousands! Of every type, every colour, every size! She just… glowed under the sun, her skin so pale. She was so breath-taking.”

 

“Did she say anything, Annabel?”

 

“No, nothing. By the time I blinked, she was but a gathering of petals, carried by the wind. Vanished, right before my eyes!”

 

Their conversation caught the attention of the locals, many staring wide eyed and some suspicious of their words. A small handful might have thought that it was a tourist attraction, an event of “find the flower woman” in the forest. But Yuuri knew different. They had no such thing.

 

“People always get jumpy this time of year,” Yurio whispered bitingly beside him. “They’re half-blind anyway. She’s just going to get the tourists ruining the clearing and the pond with their litter at this rate, trying to find the flower lady.”

 

The two old ladies wandered down the square, disappearing from their sight as they rounded a corner. A few tourists followed, wanting to know the spot the women had been talking about.

 

“I’m getting sick of it. It’s all this town is based on, ever talks about. It’s just a story, anyway.” With that, Yurio turned and stormed off between the buildings, towards the town hall just a few streets away.

 

Yuuri cast one more look towards the fountain, taking in the statue that was turned away from him, before he began to make his way back home.

 

He’d need to begin on the next flower crown, he thought. He’d begun Phichit’s, but needed to wait until the daffodils bloomed before using them. He was still in the middle of one for his mother, who had insisted on paying him for it but he had refused it. He never accepted any payment from family, and tried to return the envelope filled with it when they tried to sneak it into his house. She had wanted a simple purple lily one, to go with her purple outfit she had planned for the festival. His father’s was done, as was Mari’s, ready to be boxed and delivered.

 

He counted the number of crowns he had finished, how many he was currently doing, and how many left he had to do. The numbers were familiar in his head, having already gone through them over and over again in the past week. He needed to rush, needed to get them done. Because as he used fresh, real flowers, he had a small window in which to make them before they started to wilt and die. That was not a pretty picture for the festival.

 

He walked down the empty street towards his house, the last one before the road led out into the forest, towards the next town a few miles south. His was separated, with a hundred yards between his little cottage and the next, which he filled with a garden of all sorts of flowers. The smell hit him as he walked down his path towards the door, as it always did, brought to him by the midday wind. The flowers swayed with it, bathed in the high sun.

 

Outside, the cottage looked just as lost in history as the town square had been, but inside, it was more modern. He had art pieces lining the walls, glass doors leading to the open kitchen, a plasma tv resting on the solid walls. He set his bag down and walked through the house, into the back garden.

 

The house backed up towards the forest, deep and dark. The branches were packed together tightly, fighting as the breeze breathed between them. Yuuri often liked to take some jogs in the early morning, when the animals of the forest were waking up, when the sunlight was barely visible between the leaves, when the area was bathed in green.

 

Looking at the woods now, he reminded himself he needed some fire wood. It was one of the original features he had kept of the house, the log burner in the centre of the living room. It kept the house warmer than any insulation could, and during the cold winter months it was exactly what he needed. Though it was spring, the nights still got colder than he would have liked.

 

And the women’s voices rang in his mind. A woman made of flowers, standing at the pond, just as beautiful as the stories made her seem? Yuuri knew every inch of the forest by heart and had never seen such a thing, but something compelled him to explore. So he did as Chris had said, and placed his work at the back of his mind. The crowns could be done later, he just needed to collect some fire wood while the sun was at its highest and he could see the forest floor.

 

He knelt and tied his shoelaces tighter, not wanting to trip while hiking, pulled his jumper closer and grabbed his cloth bag. Once in the shadows, he would notice the temperature difference.

 

The forest floor crunched beneath his boots, pine needles softening his steps. Immediately, the sun hid behind the trees as he moved into the forest. Birds sung in the high branches, hedges rustled with rodents, insects crawled over the splinters of wood on the floor.

 

The forest always seemed like a different world to Yuuri. The noise of the centre of town died down, almost killed off completely. No car engines, no high-pitched voices, ringing phones. Just nature, a far off waterfall filling the space, followed by the creaking of the trees and the padding footsteps of the forest floor animals. The smell was fresh and tickled his nostrils. There was nothing like the scent of pine trees and oak leaves.

 

He walked his well-treaded path, finding his past footsteps heavily embedded into the floor. Only this morning he had been jogging the route, and since then, little paw prints of rabbits crossed.

 

He followed the path for a mile before he reached a small clearing of his own making. A few chopped logs had been placed underneath a shelter of a bush. He picked up a few and placed them in his cloth bag, not needing many. It had been mostly an excuse, obviously, even if this area was nowhere near to where the woman had said she’d seem the flower woman.

 

He didn’t know what he had expected, really. It was just a story, as everyone knew. A story from hundreds of years ago, and as Yurio had said, the woman was half-blind, needing the help of her walking stick to move around. Not that she used it, claimed she didn’t need it and them blamed the person next to her if she bumped into someone.

 

With a sigh, Yuuri turned around. Mari always called him gullible, a product of being raised in an environment where the town believed more than anything that such a myth existed. Based their whole economy on it. It gets thoughts into your head, she would tell him. You start to believe it too, and next think you know, Yuuri, you’ll be the crazy man in the corner of the square jabbering on about how you’ve seen her wandering the woods.

 

The image made him laugh. The sound died in his throat, however, when he cast his eyes back to the path.

 

The image burned more visible in his mind than it had ever before, and he wondered if Mari had been right. He was going insane. Because he knew what he saw on that path. A cluster of petals flew in the air, swirling in a way that defied the wind. It defied physics. But that wasn’t what took Yuuri’s breath away. As they twisted and flew, they surrounded a visible form that stood facing him, staring.

 

It was undeniably human.

 

No features, no details, just a human body made of petals. Not flowers, not yet, though seemed to be growing the more Yuuri looked. He could clearly see a head, a torso, limbs and long hair. He blinked and hood his head, tightening his grip on his bag. No, the old ladies had just gotten the idea in his mind. That was all.

 

But when he opened them again, the form was still there. It stepped closer, and the steps were too human to be mistaken as the wind. Yuuri watched as the floor gave way to the weight, twigs snapping underfoot, footsteps left behind. A trail of petals followed.

 

The situation seemed to slam into Yuuri harder than a bulldozer could have. He ran to his right, cutting through a bush to find the path once more, not  looking back.

 

For the full mile, he ran, tripping more than once over a few logs, having to avoid a deer as it darted in front of him. When he did finally reach home, he slammed the back door behind him and locked it. He leaned against it and breathed heavily. He expected something to hit against the door in chase, but when nothing did, he moved to peer out of the window.

 

The forest was just as still as it had been, just as dark and green, nothing out of place moving between the branches. He dropped his cloth bag of logs beside the fire and sat in his favourite chair. He was across the room, but still could not tear his eyes away from the window. If something did come chasing him, he would see it descend the path.

 

It was an hour before he realised that his breath was coming easier, or just how long had passed. When nothing came from the forest, he pulled his laptop onto his lap and began to traverse the internet.

 

He may have lived in this town, but he didn’t know everything that ever happened. So he searched. Had there been a tourist with a sighting? Any pictures? Anything?

 

He wasn’t sure what it was he had seen. He could feel the denial beginning to weave its way into his mind. He could easily pass it off as something else, a natural phenomenon. It couldn’t be the flower woman, not Blodeuwedd. Hadn’t she been turned into an owl?

 

Not that it was true. Of course. It was just a story.

 

There were a few ‘sightings’ by tourists. But none resembled what he had seen. One claimed to have seen a beautiful woman singing in the waterfalls in the north of the forest, combing the flowers from her hair. Another seemed to have seen her wandering the town square in the middle of the night, gazing up at the fountain, covered in a gown of roses. One even said she seemed to ascend from a bed of flowers from someone’s garden, flower buds for eyes.

 

But nothing describing what he had seen. Nothing. Had he really imagined it? He clutched at his head and shook it, unable to believe it. He knew what he had seen, but perhaps it had been a trick of the light. Perhaps he saw what he wanted to, after hearing the old women speak of such things. That had to be it. He was imaging it.

 

But he knew he wasn’t.

 

He’d need to speak to them about it. Annabel had said she was beautiful, but Yuuri saw only flower petals. Maybe Yurio was right and they were lying. Maybe.

 

His heart was still beating wildly in his chest, threatening to break free of his throat. He cast one more look towards the forest, and resigned himself to forgetting about it. He needed to finish his crowns. Maybe he was tired.

 

He entered his study, finding the light quickly and flicking it on. On a tidy bench sat a piece of paper, and atop of that was a half-finished crown. A bouquet of flowers sat beside it, ready to be arranged. He took a deep breath, donned his gloves and readied the scissors and pliers before he got to work.

 

***

 

By early evening, he’d finished his mother’s crown. There was still enough time before dinner time for him to take it to her, along with his father’s and Mari’s. And then that would be it, enough work for the day. He felt the bags underneath his eyes, neatly hidden behind the frames of his glasses.

                                                                             

Early night, he thought. That would be nice.

 

Mari greeted him at the door, cleaning a glass with her apron and a cigarette ready on her lips. “Brother, you look knackered.”

 

“I feel it.”

 

Mari cast a quick glance down. “How long did you stay up making these?”

 

“These?” Yuuri raised the big box that held all three crowns. “I started on these this morning, it’s fine.”

 

Mari caught the underlying truth, that it had been someone else’s Yuuri had stayed up for. Once, Yuuri had seen his perfectionist quality as a strength when his budding business was growing. Now, he saw it as a weakness. He would end up working himself into an early grave, Minako kidded sometimes. And other times, it didn’t sound like a joke. When he sat up at his desk late at night, his nimble working fingers weaving flowers into careful folds, he agreed. But once the festival season was over, he would be able to relax.

 

His sister didn’t say anything. Instead, she took the boxes and turned without another word, expecting Yuuri to follow.

 

He did. They walked through the eating hall and there Yuuri paused. Some of the elderly still sat watching the television, taking their time to be sociable. It was when the sun went down, when the tourists searched for expensive restaurants, that the locals were able to walk around freely. Often, they would go to Minako’s bar down the road and then relax here, a site of social gathering, to chatter about their days.

 

In the corner, the two elderly ladies Maria and Annabel sat, drinking wine and giggling. Yuuri listened, but found their words set on grandchildren. The topic of the flower lady didn’t come up again, and it was then that Yuuri decided they had been lying. To be able to change topic so easily, Yuuri knew that they hadn’t seen what he had.

 

It haunted his mind, knackering out his already tired thoughts. It replayed and replayed until the colours blurred and the memory began to become a mess, and it became easier to imagine that he had only seen things. A flower girl, in the middle of the woods. The real myth. No, he must have been imagining it. It must have been a trick of the light. But he couldn’t quite convince himself, there was still something at the back of his head telling him he knew what he saw.

 

“Yuuri!”

 

Yuuri turned at the call of his mother, soon finding his middle half engulfed in her hug. Her shorter arms barely managed to wrap around his body, and her head came to only his chest, but she gave it all that she could, and Yuuri hugged her back.

 

“Hello, Mum,” he greeted, unable to keep the grin that pulled at his lips at the sight.

 

“Have you brought our crowns? Oh, Yuuri, thank you!” She pulled back and wiggled, the excitement coursing through her form.

 

“Yes. You’re welcome to open them if you want.”

 

They didn’t need any more incentive. His mother called his father, and all together, his parents and Mari began to open their brown boxes. There was a tense few seconds, only on Yuuri’s part, while they parted the paper to peer in.

 

No matter how many compliments Yuuri received, he was always nervous about handing his creations out. He spent hours on them, perfecting them, picking at them until they were balanced and the colours were just right. He doubted that anyone really knew the effort that went into them, but he didn’t mind. Because his anxious doubts were always chased away when he saw the expression on their faces.

 

His mother gasped, his sister staring down at hers with wide eyes and his father with a beaming smile. Yuuri fidgeted, scrunching up his shoulders beside him as he gave a small smile. The joy in their faces warmed his heart, and he couldn’t help the blush that was colouring his cheeks.

 

“Yuuri, these are beautiful!” his mother squealed.

 

Yuuri smiled and watched as she settled it on her head, the deep purple drawing the colour from her hair, just as Yuuri had wanted. “Thank you,” he said.

 

His sister placed hers on her head too, tipping it to the side. “Add a little more rebellion to it,” she smirked at him.

 

His father carefully placed his own on, taking a calm pride in the weight on top of his head.

 

Yuuri glanced at each in turn, taking in his creations on top of their heads, feeling his body thrum. He had picked right, he thought. The colours and the flowers suited them perfectly, drawing the eye to their features, eyes popping. He’d worried about his fathers, as smaller flowers best suited the man and such crowns were hard to make. But the thick foliage sat like a cushion atop his head.

 

His mind began to race, wondering if the flowers had been a part of the flower form he’d seen in the woods. Had the colours been in the petals then? Had they been flying through the air? Had they been a part of the body of the flower woman?

 

He shook his head, throwing the thoughts from his mind. That wasn’t what he needed to think about right now. He was just tired. Just tired.

 

But the flowers reminded him of what he had seen. He saw only the form in his head, the quiet forest, the green filtering through.

 

He wanted to see it again.

 

“Um, I’ve got something I need to finish this evening before I head to sleep,” Yuuri said before he was aware of himself. “So I’ll see you guys soon, alright?”

 

“Alright, Yuuri, sleep well,” his father said.

 

Yuuri gave them a quick wave before he began to turn around and head out of the door. He didn’t know what he was doing. He really didn’t. But his body was taking him along the town and back towards his cottage, making up the excuse that he still had flower crowns to finish before he did get some sleep. He still had Phichit’s. He planned to finish that tomorrow, but work always called him.

 

He knew that his night wasn’t going to consist of weaving more flower crowns though. He couldn’t get what he had seen out of his head, and if Yuuri was anything, he was a chaser of anything that peaked his curiosity. And this certainly did.

 

He didn’t even enter his cottage when he arrived. He followed the path around the garden, almost hidden behind the shadow of the cottage. In the setting sun, the forest looked more eerie, branches dancing while darkness clung. He powered his way through anyway. He knew the forest like the back of his hand. He could do this.

 

It took a little longer than it had before, but he finally found the small clearing again.

 

There was nothing, but he hadn’t expected there to be. His luck never ran that way. But he waited, spinning around with every crackle of a branch, every animal bleat. The sunlight was pushing through every gap it could through the trees, shivering as the sun set.

 

Yuuri wasn’t sure how long he waited there, but he knew it was long enough for the darkness to grow. It was becoming hard for him to see anything. Each shift echoed through the trees, the birds were settling, the owls had come out to play. The light in the sky was a dark red, promising great weather tomorrow – just as his mother liked to repeat.

 

Red sky at night, Shepherds’ delight.

Red sky in the morning, Shepherds’ warning.

 

Or as it went. He recited the words in his mind, finding them a comfort in the darkness. And then the wind picked up. It whispered passed him, and he felt the chill rise bumps on his exposed flesh. His teeth chattered the tiniest bit.

 

Something moved.

 

He caught it in the corner of his eye. A leaf flying by him. No. Not a leaf. A petal. He was sure that it was a petal.

 

He spun on his heels, breath jarred in his throat.

 

Standing on the path was the form, as he had seen this morning. The air twisted the petals about, like a hurricane around the form, tall and slim on the forest path. The colours that had made the petals were darker now, looking like sharp greys as they sliced through the air. But there was something different this time.

 

Yuuri saw it immediately. It had been just a form, a body made of flowers, this morning. A literal statue of flowers, made of nothing else. Not now. Now it was clearly human.

 

She had pale skin that shone under the low light. Petals were stuck to her hips, her arms, shoulders, caught in her long silver hair. Her hair shimmered, and Yuuri had no doubt that it was soft. Her face, wow, her face was beautiful, with sharp blue eyes, staring straight at him. Her nose was…

 

Her nose was larger than he expected, sharper. Though her lips were plump, they did not look as if they had been made from plucked rose petals as the story portrayed. They were a little thinner, a little paler, and her jawline was harsh lines, nothing soft like a flower.

 

Yuuri glanced lower, seeing muscles under the petals, harsh and pale, dipping into tones that many of his village folk would kill to have. Her waist was straighter than he expected, and between her sides was a six pack he could drool over. Her legs were muscled too, larger feet than he expected, larger hands, thighs that rippled power.

 

Yuuri’s eyes snapped to where the petals had not been covering. With nothing to wear, the flower person was naked to the evening light, free to the breeze that waved through the trees. And Yuuri learned with absolute certainty that she was in fact a _he_ , a flower _man_.

 

The body shape had been a give away, he knew, just as the man’s handsome face had been, or his height. But his exposed groin was also a good hint.

 

Yuuri squealed and covered his eyes. The blush burned down to his neck, and further to his chest when he heard a chuckle from the man before him.

 

A shiver wracked his body when he heard that voice, deep and soft and mesmerising. Unable to stop himself, he opened his hands again and stared at the man before him. His heart was beating too fast, it deafened his ears to anything but the sound of that chuckle. Just as his eyes narrowed in on the beautiful man, everything else in his field of vision nothing but background blackness.

 

The man was stunning. Just as the stories said, the most beautiful person woven from flowers, crafted by a wizard. They had said it was a woman, but Yuuri had no doubt that old stories got things wrong. The man’s long silver hair fluttered in the light breeze, a breeze Yuuri knew now the man was creating. Flowers were interlaced between the strands, and petals clung to his fringe. He blinked, and Yuuri’s eyes were drawn to his gaze. His eyelashes were long, his blue eyes deep.

 

He really was made of flowers. A real flower person. Something his town had been built on, something that had created the Flower Festival, had drawn in curious tourists for years upon years. Everyone thought it a story, but here he was. Before him. Yuuri couldn’t breathe.

 

What should I do? He wondered. Should I call the name the stories called her? Or, well, him?

 

But as he opened his mouth, ready to butcher the pronunciation of the language, something cracked to his right. His head snapped towards the sound, seeing a body bob in the darkness.

 

“Yuuri?” someone called, the sound like a sharp knife through the silence he had been encompassed in.

 

Phichit stumbled up the path. He grumbled and waved the flies away from his face. Phichit had never been a walking enthusiast, much preferring to mingle with the tourists in the middle of town.

 

Yuuri’s gaze snapped back towards the flower man, seeing the space he had occupied empty. He was gone, but where he had stood was a pile of flowers, blooming beautifully. Like his own footprint.

 

“Yuuri! There you are!”

 

Yuuri turned back towards Phichit and schooled his expression to a smile, trying to set his heart at a slower pace. “Phichit! What are you doing here?”

 

“I came to see if you needed help with the crowns. Chris said you looked tired, so I wanted to help you get things done so you could sleep tonight. Are you alright?”

 

Yuuri cast one look back at the circle of flowers before he looped his arm into Phichit’s, taking him back down the path towards the cottage. “Yeah, yeah, fine,” he replied. “Just… saw something weird.”

 

“You shouldn’t be in the forest in the dark. You can barely see as is, what would you do if you got lost?”

 

Yuuri bumped his friend’s side, giving him a chuckle, all the while the image of the flowers burning their memory in his mind. Every time he blinked, he saw him behind his eyelids. Every whip of the wind reminded him, every movement in the dark.

 

The flower man walked the forest.


	2. Alstroemeria

Everything seemed quieter when he stepped through the threshold. His house was dark. He’d been too preoccupied to switch on the lights. Phichit pressed by him and switched them on, casting an odd look his way.

 

Yuuri turned to look back at the forest, knowing now what he hadn’t before – something walked those trees. It was something they all knew, but thought of only as stories. Made of flowers, a man lurked in the darkness. But he’d shown himself to Yuuri, and he didn’t know why. The flower man hadn’t shown himself before, so why now? And why to him?

 

Yuuri thought over everything he could, but some of the most stupid things came to mind. Had the wood he was cutting been special? Or did the flower man like flower crowns? Or maybe they’d always passed each other for years? Yuuri shook his head and stepped into the light, ignoring the look Phichit was giving him.

 

Behind him, the door closed, cutting off his view to the forest.

 

If he wasn’t careful, he was going to be driven insane, he thought. He could already feel a tugging inside of him, trying to bring him back to the forest. He wanted to see the man again, could still smell the scent in the air, powerful and heavy. Instead, he collapsed on the chair.

 

“Yuuri?” Phichit asked, coming to stand before him. “Are you alright?”

 

Yuuri’s head snapped up. “Yeah, of course. Why do you ask?”

 

Phichit made a face to show how he didn’t believe a word. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot, waiting.

 

Yuuri looked down again, gazing at his open palms. The more he stared, the more he could imagine petals making up the skin, their furls dipping his fingers. “Some of the old ladies were talking about the flower woman again,” he began, unsure of how to say it, unsure of even what he should be saying.

 

“So?”

 

“I think I saw something,” Yuuri whispered. He knew that if he could tell anyone, it was Phichit. The other man knew he wouldn’t lie about these things. But that didn’t make his heart beat any less.

 

“Something?”

 

Yuuri nodded. “Yeah.”

 

There was a pause. “Well?”

 

“Well, it was… a form, human, made of flowers.”

 

“I could gather that.”

 

“And he was covered in petals-”

 

“Wait, wait. _He_?”

 

Yuuri looked up again, giving a nod as he gulped. “Yes, he. It was… undeniably a man. Don’t ask me how I know, Phichit. You can guess. He wasn’t wearing clothes.”

 

He knew that any other time, Phichit might have teased him for it. But this time, he sat on the arm of the chair and took Yuuri’s hand in his own, looking him in the eye. “So… he just appeared to you?”

 

Yuuri nodded again. “Twice.”

 

“Twice?”

 

“Once this morning, and then just now.”

 

Phichit’s eyes burst wide. “Just now? As in, when I was going to see you?”

 

“He was there until I looked away. And then he was gone.”

 

Phichit turned to cast his gaze towards the window. He stilled and waited. It was the first time in a long time that Yuuri had seen his best friend so quiet. The grandfather clock ticked in the hall, the wind whistled through the open window in the kitchen, something fell off his dresser as it always did. The old boards were beginning to bow with time. But everything was too quiet. He’d normally be in his study crafting more crowns by now, or closing all the curtains as the darkness descended, or perhaps even relaxing and watching something on the television.

 

But nothing like that would be able to occupy his thoughts, not anymore. Not when he knew that there was something wandering the forest beside him. How many times had he been tending to the garden and been watched? How many times had he been cutting logs and just crossed paths with the man? Each and every petal that passed him now would be a question.

 

Phichit turned back then, a smile on his face. “We could go looking again tomorrow. Going out in the dark right now isn’t going to solve anything. Plus, you need to have a break. Tell you what, we can watch something on the TV, one of the films we promised we always would, and I’ll sleep over?”

 

The reason went unsaid. Yuuri knew his friend was looking out for him, not wanting Yuuri to sleep scared in his house alone at night. But also, Phichit wanted to keep an eye on him. Because, maybe, just maybe, what he had seen in the forest was just a product of too many nights spent sleeplessly.

 

Yuuri didn’t argue. They lay down to watch a few films and fell asleep on the sofa. Unsurprisingly, Yuuri’s dreams were overwhelmed with flowers.

 

***

 

With how things had been going, Yuuri expected to see the flower man outside of his window, waiting for him to wake. But he wasn’t. The forest was still in the morning light, no shadows dancing between the branches.

 

“We can go looking later, but we have to help with the festival preparations for today. Flower humans can wait,” Phichit said, dragging Yuuri through the open door. “The decorations need to be put up all over town, and the food prepared, and the tourists wrangled up.”

 

“I have crowns to do-”

 

“That can wait too. You’ve been cooped up pretty much for days apart from deliveries. If it weren’t for your crowns, I don’t think people would even remember you live here.”

 

Yuuri wanted more than anything to be able to finish the crowns and explore more of the forest, but Phichit wouldn’t take no for an answer. Before he knew it, he was in the middle of town, where the crowds were thrumming. Yuuri always found it funny how lively the crowds became in the main square in the lead up to the festival. Of course, it didn’t compare to when the festival was on.

 

Locals were already placing ladders up to decorate the streets with banners and bunting, with rainbows of colour and hints of flowers sewn on. Bouquets were being placed in their holders along the houses and shops, bushes of neatly trimmed foliage brought and stuck in their annual placements – some around the fountain, others on street corners. At the back of his mind, Yuuri wondered if the locals might even put forward their town for the best of the country competition. Rumours had circulated before about it, though nothing came of it.

 

“We’re helping Georgi. He needs to put up a whole load of bunting outside of his salon, and he’s asked us if we can hold the ladder for him,” Phichit informed.

 

Yuuri nodded and allowed Phichit to drag him to the other end of the square, where, between two alleyways, Georgi’s hair and make-up salon waited. He was already waiting, tapping his foot and crossing his arms, ladder beside him and a pile of bunting at the foot.

 

“We’re here, we’re here!” Phichit called.

 

Yuuri heard them talking, but was momentarily distracted by a little girl walking passed. She was holding the hand of her mother, and in her other hand was an ice cream. She wore a dress of fabric flowers, with a makeshift crown in her braided hair. More floral patterns had been painted onto her cheeks, in a softer imitation of the myth’s goddess. Yuuri couldn’t help but smile. Some of the tourists, and even the locals, liked to dress as the mythical woman, and the festival even drew in some of the cosplayers around the area. He hadn’t really taken notice of them before, because when he heard of the woman every day all day, he began to tune it out.

 

But now he smiled down at her as she passed, the image of the real thing in his mind. He couldn’t help but compare them. The man he had seen, he wasn’t wearing flowers, he was made of them, his skin melting in with some of the petals. He’d not worn it in any fashion, nothing of value covered, but they clung to him. And he had been beautiful. Just as the legend had said.

 

Yuuri shook his head and noticed that the other two had been waiting for him. He asked what it was he had missed, but they dismissed it and begun their job.

 

He held the ladder as Georgi ascended. Phichit retreated to watch and see the levels.

 

Yuuri tried not to let the others know how anxious he was about the ladder. It shook in his hands, wobbling every time Georgi moved. Cobblestones were not the most level of surfaces.

 

“A little more to the left!” Phichit called.

 

Georgi moved. The ladder wobbled. Yuuri strained.

 

“Ah wait, maybe to the right?”

 

Another shift. The ladder shuddered. Yuuri moved to stand beside it and hold it from a different angle.

 

“Uh, yeah, just pull the side up a little more.”

 

By the time the bunting was finally to Phichit’s immaculate standards, Yuuri’s arms were aching. He didn’t fully relax until Georgi was well enough away from the ladder and he was able to move it against the wall.

 

Every year, he thought. Every year was a hassle. Why not just leave the decorations up as was? People came all year round to see the town, after all. They were surrounded in nature – even if people didn’t care about the myth, tourists still came for the hiking paths they had, the natural wonders in the forest.

 

They helped with some of the decorations inside the shop as well, taking advantage of the slow hour of the salon before Phichit dragged them to Chris’ café on the corner. It was almost bursting at the seams with customers, all wanting their afternoon tea. Yuuri wanted to turn back and have something more in one of their houses, but Phichit dragged him inside. The only solace, he supposed, was that they were able to find a small table in an alcove, where he could pretend that there wasn’t such a crowd.

 

“What did he look like?” Phichit asked as he browsed the lunch menu.

 

“Who?” Yuuri opened up his own menu, his stomach gurgling at all of the food on the page. Just get something small, he reminded himself, or you’re going to be bloated when you try to make more crowns.

 

“The flower man.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Was he as beautiful as the stories say?”

 

“Uh,” Yuuri hesitated. He could feel a blush blooming on his cheeks. “I’d say more than beautiful, more than I expected.”

 

“And he was naked?”

 

“…Yes”

 

“Woo, go Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri cast a glare at his best friend, who in turn gave a quick wink. “Yes, he was naked. And some parts of him were covered in flowers.”

 

“From that blush, I bet the most important part wasn’t.”  


He dropped the lunch menu and buried his face in his hands, sighing into his skin. “Oh my God, Phichit. Please.”  


“Okay, okay. So, what did he look like?”

 

“Um, well, long grey hair. Really shiny, and it looked so soft. Blue eyes, bluer than I’ve ever seen. High cheek bones, a beautiful smile, pale skin with I don’t think any blemishes. He was tall, and broad too, with muscles-”

 

“Now I understand the blush. Sounds like your type, Yuuri.”

 

“Please stop.”

 

“How about downstairs?”

 

“ _Please._ Stop.”

 

“Downstairs?”

 

Their heads snapped towards Chris, where he stood with a smirk on his lips. His hands were mid-reach toward the notepad and pen in his apron, shirt unbuttoned to peek at his tanned chest.

 

“Downstairs?” he repeated. “From the way Yuuri’s blushing, I don’t think you mean of a building. Unless he has a particular love for architecture.”

 

“Just talking about a man Yuuri saw,” Phichit helpfully supplied with a wiggled eyebrow.

 

“A man? Well, well, Yuuri. And I hope that his downstairs was just as impressive as his upstairs?” Chris looked about ready to deny his shop, pull up a chair and gossip.

 

Yuuri lay his head on the table. Was there a way to teleport away from this? Who really knew? If there were flower men walking the forest, perhaps anything was possible.

 

“I’m guessing so,” Phichit replied. “He doesn’t blush just for anyone.”

 

“You’re right, that’s quite a sizable blush. Who is this man anyway?”

 

Yuuri snapped his gaze up, compelling Phichit not to say anything. He didn’t need a rumour going around that he had gone insane, seeing mythological beings in the trees. He didn’t need to be stared at like that, didn’t need his business to take a tumble. But it seemed Phichit was already ahead of him.

 

“Some tourist coming through town. Yuuri hadn’t seen him before, didn’t even know his name.”

 

“No,” Yuuri replied, finding it easy to speak it. Perhaps because it was very much the truth. He didn’t know his name, hadn’t seen him before. Though, he was the furthest from a tourist Yuuri thought anyone could be. “I don’t know who it was.”  


Chris gave him a softer smile. “Well, I hope you find him again. It’s time you get a life outside of crown making. Now, what will you want?”

 

The remainder of lunch was a quiet affair, Phichit seemingly having moved off of the topic of the flower man and onto how the Flower Festival would bring more followers to his social media account. He scrolled through his hundreds of pictures, showing Yuuri all the candidates that he would be putting onto the accounts later on. He even had a schedule.

 

After lunch was done, Yuuri felt the itching in his fingers. He had yet to touch a flower crown today, and the overwhelming need to create was making his heart thump. Some might call him a workaholic, but he called himself a realist. He had a small time frame to get them done, and he needed to get to it. But they still had yet a few things to do. As he slowly inched his way back home, he helped the street decorators with their flower arrangements and bunting, until the whole square looked as if it was something out of a medieval novel. Tourists captured the view with their phones, some of which Yuuri knew he featured in, attempting to stalk out of them.

 

As he began to walk back towards his house, he was surprised to find Phichit following.

 

“Phichit?”

 

“Yes?” He continued to scroll through his phone.

 

“Why are you following?”

 

“Well, it seems that the flower man has a certain preference for you, so, I’m going to be where you are if I hope to see him.”

 

Yuuri felt his heart thump louder. “Phichit, no taking a photo of him. There must be a reason he’d rather keep himself hidden, so I don’t think you should-”

 

Phichit waved the comment away. “Don’t worry, don’t worry, I won’t do any of that. I just want to see him with my own eyes.”

 

Yuuri nodded reluctantly, still not thinking it was a good idea. The man had disappeared soon after Phichit had called to him. He wasn’t sure why he was special, why the flower man that no one had seen had decided to show himself to Yuuri not once but twice, but he wanted to keep it. He wanted to keep seeing this man, keep seeing the phenomenon and the beauty that he was. If that meant keeping him secret, then that would be what he would do.

 

But there wasn’t anything waiting around his house when they arrived. There wasn’t anything waiting beside the forest, nothing in his house. All was quiet, untouched, as if the flower man didn’t exist. Yuuri let a sigh of relief leave his chest, ignoring how it was tinged with sadness.

 

They fell into their usual routine, Phichit plopping himself down on the sofa to leaf through Yuuri’s channels while Yuuri retreated into his den. As soon as he donned the gloves, his chest seemed to ease, his breath coming easier. The itching in his fingers calmed to a low thrum, and he got to work.

 

Phichit’s still needed to be done, along with some others. He needed to get to work. He only had a few days.

 

***

 

It was late in the evening when he was finished for the day. Phichit’s had been done, and a few tourists’ as well. His fingers ached from the work, the fine intricate work he loved to do, but the ache only made him happy. He pushed his chair back and gazed at his finished product.

 

Sometimes, it surprised him how well he could do. He wasn’t one to praise his own achievements, as many would know. But he couldn’t help but be proud when hours and hours of work went into his creations. Once satisfied that there was nothing else needing to be done, he left to check on his friend.

 

Phichit had fallen asleep on the sofa, midway through a film that blasted on the television. Yuuri sighed and began to arrange the pillows to make his friend more comfortable.

 

But he stopped when he noticed a figure standing in the corner of the room. It was then he noticed a light breeze in the air, despite the lack of open windows. Just as the thought occurred to him, a lone petal fluttered beside him and landed on the top of his hand.

 

His head snapped up.

 

And there he was. There, the flower man, standing beside the door, the petals caught in his silver hair. His blue eyes were bright in the evening light, and his smile warmed the cold that had lingered on Yuuri’s skin.

 

He glanced down at Phichit, and, noticing he was still sleeping, began to take a step towards the flower man. Courage laced through his veins, a drive to meet the man thumping in his mind.

 

“H-Hello,” he whispered into the tense air. It came out sharp and rushed, and he flinched. But the man didn’t move. He tried again. “Hi. Um, my name is Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki.”

 

Even as he came within a few feet of the man, he didn’t move, instead titled his head to the side. Yuuri cursed. What if he didn’t understand? He was something out of a myth, from hundreds and hundreds of years ago. What if he spoke a dialect long lost and adapted? Would google help? His mind raced with possibilities. What if he spoke a dead language?

 

“I’m Viktor Nikiforov.”

 

Or not. And his voice was made of bells, making Yuuri’s heart stutter more. He gave the man a blushing smile.

 

“Oh. It’s n-nice to meet you, Viktor.” Wow, that sounded bad. Here he was, greeting a mythical legend, and he was saying it was nice to meet him? Like he was some sort of normal tourist? “Um. I just… can’t believe you’re here in front of me.”

 

Viktor chuckled, as if such a thought was strange to him. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them, and it was then that Yuuri noticed the height difference between them. Only a few inches, nothing too tall, but it seemed massive to him. Perhaps it was because the man was a little broader than he was, or because Viktor’s presence was so much bigger than his own.

 

He felt his heart thump at their proximity. This close, he could smell the deeper scent on the man’s skin, something more than flowers. Yuuri liked it.

 

As the thought occurred to him, Yuuri snapped back to reality. Viktor seemed to be waiting for something. “Oh, uh,” he muttered as he held out his hand. Viktor’s took his own, and his skin warmed at the touch. Even Viktor’s hand felt more human than he expected, the skin soft, warmth flowing, a pulse thumping beneath his fingertips. Reluctantly he took his hand back.

 

The situation was getting to him. He didn’t know what was happening, that there was someone before him someone made of flowers, wandering into his house while the sun set. That the very person he had seen twice before, lurking the woods, something of myths and town memories, was speaking to him.

 

Viktor glanced around, eyes catching on everything, and began to wander the house. Yuuri watched as he did. He touched things on the mantelpiece before the fireplace, trailing his hands along the table, pressing his fingertips to everything that he could. As if he wasn’t used to a home.

 

Yuuri blushed again as he watched the sway of the man’s hair, almost reaching the bottom of his back. “Uh, would you like some clothes?” Was that an insensitive thing to ask? Oh god, what did he _do?_ What did he _say_?

 

“Clothes?”

 

“Yeah, they’re like this,” he pointed to his own top. “They cover-”

 

The chuckling stopped him. “I know what clothes are, Yuuri. I just have no need to wear them.”

 

Yuuri almost melted there, his name sounding better than it ever had on the man’s lips.

 

Before Yuuri could reply, Phichit began to shift on the sofa. Acting on impulse, Yuuri pushed Viktor into his bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. He didn’t need to have Phichit waking up to find a naked man in his house, even if he did explain that it was the flower man.

 

Viktor in turn watched Yuuri as he ruffled through his wardrobe, sorting through some of the clothes that were too big for him. Once picked, he placed them in Viktor’s waiting arms.

 

“Please?” he asked, when he saw the reluctance on Viktor’s face. “I just…”

 

Viktor smirked. “Am I distracting you?”

 

“Yes,” Yuuri answered honestly as the blush deepened on his cheeks. He turned as he heard Viktor wrestle with the clothes. As he waited, he began to wonder if it was the first time that the man had worn any clothes. He doubted it. The man knew what they were. And he hadn’t handled them as if it were his first time. But there were so many things he wanted to know about the man with him, so many questions he wanted to ask, answers that could only be found from the man’s lips.

 

A sudden thought occurred to him. Had Viktor walked between humans before? Had he disguised his flowers with clothes and wandered their streets? No, he would have seen surely. But would he have? He was always so busy, and he never payed attention. His friends were always saying that a comet could fly passed his head and he would never realise. Maybe… maybe they’d passed before.

 

When Viktor announced that he was done, Yuuri turned. The leisure trousers were a perfect fit, though his top was a little small. It exposed a slither of his stomach, and it was a tight along his chest, but Viktor didn’t seem to mind.

 

A little more comfortable now, Yuuri asked, “What are you doing here?” Why me? He wanted to ask. Why haven’t you shown yourself to anyone but me? Why three times? Why speak to only me when there were more deserving people in the town?

 

Viktor took a framed photo off Yuuri’s dresser, touching the edges as his eyes scanned over the surface. “I saw you in the woods, and thought you looked interesting.”  


“Interesting?”

 

Viktor glanced up with a grin. “Yes! You smell so deeply of flowers, I could mistake you for one of my kind. But you’re human. It caught my interests.”

 

“Oh, your kind?”

 

“Flower people.”

 

Viktor said it so matter-of-factly, as if this wasn’t world-shattering information. “So there’s more of you?”

 

“Not as many as there once was, but yes, there are.” Viktor placed the photo back, taking the one beside it. “I wanted to know what kind of person you were.”

 

How did he even begin? How could he explain himself, someone who he thought was boring in comparison to the beauty before him? “I must smell like flowers because it’s part of my job.” Viktor’s gaze glanced up, interest lurking in those blue eyes. “I make flower crowns.”

 

“Flower crowns?”

 

Yuuri turned and began to rifle through his wardrobe again. Some of his earliest creations still rested in a box at the bottom, and he took out his very favourite. Only the best for the flower man, right? Inside of his chosen box was a crown made of blue roses, the brightest blue he had been able to weave. Plastic, of course, otherwise the flowers would never have survived this long. “These,” he said, handing the crown to the other man.

 

Viktor held it gently, turning it to explore all the craft. His eyes sparkled. Then he moved to sit it on his head, and Yuuri saw true beauty.

 

His heart hammered faster than he ever remembered it beating. His own creation, his favourite piece, was sitting atop Viktor’s head. The blue matched his eyes, and the silver of his hair made the crown pop. His pale skin complimented his eyes and the crown, and his smile finished the whole picture.

 

“How do I look?”

 

“Absolutely beautiful,” Yuuri muttered before he could stop himself. He turned away again, closing the box and placing it in the wardrobe. If he spent any more time looking at the man, he was worried he would lose himself. “I work mainly with real flowers. I surround myself with flowers every day to create crowns.”

 

“It explains your scent.”

 

This was so surreal, he thought to himself. Perhaps the situation hadn’t quite hit him yet, because he began to filter back into his host skin, back to the days he managed the bath house with his parents. He found himself saying, “Uh, would you like any food? Or, well, do you eat food? What about water? Do you want any?” He stopped himself and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know what to do.”

 

There was a myth standing in his room, donned with one of his earliest creations, and he was offering it food. Many would take this opportunity to ask questions, but he felt it was too intrusive at the moment. He felt ashamed. What was he doing? He wasn’t deserving of this. He wasn’t that interesting.

 

He was taken from his thoughts as Viktor’s fingers brushed his chin, tilting his head back to look up into blue eyes.

 

“No need to be so anxious,” Viktor whispered, giving a soft smile that Yuuri noticed didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

But there was. There was everything to be anxious about, because he didn’t know what to do. He lived in a town in which things were pretty much the same every day – make crowns, day in and day out, earn a living, and then every year there was the annual festival to prepare for. Some might have thought it was boring, but it was in Yuuri’s comfort zone. It was steady and he knew what was going to happen. Now there was Viktor standing before him, and he was caught between trying to convince himself that this was normal and that it wasn’t. Treat him like any other person, one side of his mind was telling him. The other was begging him to take advantage of the myth while it was here.

 

Viktor seemed to notice what his proximity was doing because he pulled away and while he didn’t step too far off, there was a comfortable distance between them. He placed the crown atop his head down carefully on the dresser. “May I see more of your crowns?”

 

Something to do. Yes, that was easy. It was something he knew. He began to rifle through more of the boxes he had stashed away at the bottom of his wardrobe, some hidden further than he had touched for years, and placed the boxes on the bed for inspection. No, viewing. He needed to remind himself that he didn’t need to be so anxious, as Viktor had said.

 

It was silent between them while Viktor began to view them. Yuuri watched his back. His clothes really were too tight, he thought. He could see the bottom of Viktor’s back, just as pale as his face, and the unmistakable outline of muscles underneath his skin. Dimples hid on either side of his spine, peeking further down. He’d need to get the man bigger clothes. Phichit knew someone who sold clothes, maybe he could get them well made and cheaper than retail price –

 

He shook his head again, finding he was doing it more than he had ever before. Clothes? New ones for Viktor? What was he thinking? There was no guarantee that the man would be coming back, and even if he did, why would he want clothes from Yuuri? Why would he have need of his own?

 

“These are gorgeous, Yuuri.”

 

Viktor’s voice snapped him from his trail of thoughts. He looked up to see Viktor holding two, one of which was the very first he had ever made. A mix of cream coloured roses and lavender, a poor mix now that he looked back. But the colours had complimented each other, and while the weaving left gaps that he would be ashamed to create now, it had held its own charm. He didn’t like to take it out often, because he hated looking at it. And the other was one he’d made while practicing arrangements, a rainbow of colour and a mix of flowers. It was thinner than it had been before, as over the years some of the flowers had fallen out to rest at the bottom of the box. Odd that those two should be the ones Viktor picked out.

 

“Thank you,” he replied. “They’re not as good as the ones I can make now though.”

 

“I think they’re brilliant.”

 

Yuuri couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at his lips. The very real flower man complimenting him on his flower crowns? Something about it made him want to laugh and cry at the same time.

 

Viktor placed them gently in the boxes before he raised his open palms before him, palms facing the ceiling. Yuuri watched as the man conjured flowers from thin air, petals swirling into bright blooming heads. He wove them without touching them, crafting a crown from nothing. It was a mix of colours, reds and pinks, deep purples forming a base. It was thick, and to fill the gaps came branches and leafage. Once done, it softly rested on Viktor’s hands, and he held it out for Yuuri to view.

 

“It’s stunning,” he complimented, carefully reaching to touch it. From a critical and professional eye, he couldn’t say it was perfect. The weaving was lightly done, and could fall apart after too much use, and the arrangements of the flowers could have been better done. In some parts, it was too thick and in others too thin, unbalanced. But he glanced up to see the beam on Viktor’s lips, and he couldn’t help but think that ‘perfect’ fit it well.

 

“You have it,” Viktor said.

 

“But-But they’re _your_ flowers-”

 

“Exactly.”

 

Not knowing what to say to that, Yuuri accepted it into his hands. At the back of his mind, he expected the crown to feel different. Viktor had made it from the flowers around his body, created it with what might have been magic, and so he thought it might be different from the crowns he had handled before. But it wasn’t. It was so normal it shocked him. It brought him relief.

 

“Put it on,” Viktor urged him, taking it back and placing it on the crown of his head.

 

Despite having created crowns for years, Yuuri hadn’t worn one for nearly just as long. The weight was familiar on his head, bringing him comfort. Wasn’t this a funny image of the both of them, he thought. He couldn’t help but smile up at the man.

 

Viktor’s hand cupped Yuuri’s cheek, drawing breath from the smaller man. “It looks good on you.”

 

The blush was back, flaring on his skin. “Thank you. Yours too.”

 

“Would you like to keep it?”

 

“Yes.” The answer came faster than he could think.

 

A chuckle left Viktor and he dropped his hand once more. He might have been about to say something, but there came a thump from the living room, along with a yelp. Phichit was up, Yuuri thought, and it wouldn’t be long before he came looking for him.

 

“I need to go,” Viktor suddenly announced.

 

Yuuri’s head snapped back. He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of the man leaving sent his chest into tight knots, his heart racing. “Oh, of course.” As Viktor began to turn, he reached out without thinking, his fist tightening in the man’s borrowed top. “A-and will you be back?”

 

There was silence for the longest moment, and Yuuri was sure the man would say no. Embarrassment laced up his spine, and he wanted to take his words, his hand back. Of course someone like Viktor would have more important things to do. A myth wouldn’t want anythingto do with him.

 

“Of course! I’ll come back soon.”

 

The words were so different from what he had been expecting, that it took a moment for Yuuri to properly register them. He glanced up, just in time to see Viktor disappearing. His form began to melt into petals, starting from one side and quickly reaching the other. He still smiled at Yuuri, their eyes still connecting, until he was nothing but petals in the air, flying towards the open window. The clothes he had been wearing fell to the floor in a pile, the top dropping from his grip.

 

He was alone again, his room seemingly darker than it had been just moments before, the wind whistling through the window, freezing his skin. He could still feel the warmth of Viktor’s touch on his cheek and chin. He used it to remind himself that this had been real, what he had experienced wasn’t a dream.

 

He heard another thump from the living room. He took a deep breath, calmed himself, before he turned back towards the main part of the house.

 

Phichit was lying on the floor, rubbing his head. Sleep still clung to the corner of his eyes, and his mouth twisted in an effort to stifle a yawn.

 

“You need to get a bigger sofa,” Phichit said, slowly getting up and brushing the folds of his clothes out.

 

“Okay.”

 

“I’m sorry I fell asleep. You know what I get like with films.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

His lacklustre answers made Phichit take proper notice. He narrowed his eyes, gaze immediately snapping to the crown in his hair. He didn’t ask anything, seemed to be lost in thoughts, and Yuuri kept silent.

 

“That’s not one of yours.”

 

“No, it isn’t.”

 

There was another pause between them, and Yuuri felt his heart hammering. Of course he would answer truthfully if Phichit did ask, but if not then he wouldn’t say. Because, for some reason, Viktor didn’t seem to want to be seen any anyone other than him. Every time Phichit came close, he vanished. Yuuri didn’t know why that was, but he would keep the man’s secret if that was what he wanted.

 

“There are some petals caught in your clothes.”

 

“Are there?” Yuuri didn’t move to look.

 

“Why did you come out of your bedroom?”

 

“Because I was looking at crowns.”

 

“Why were you looking at crowns?”

 

For that he didn’t have an answer.

 

Phichit whistled. “ _Yuuri_ ,” he giggled. “You’ve only just met him and you’re already inviting him to your bedroom to look at your creations? _And_ he made one for you too? It won’t be long now before it’s rings being exchanged!”

 

“It’s not like that-”

 

“The blush on your cheeks tells me otherwise.” Phichit’s eyes surveying every patch of skin. “Was he naked the whole time?”

 

“N-No, I gave him some clothes.”

 

“Reluctantly.”

 

“Phichit!”

 

His friend laughed again, his voice streaming through the house. “Hey, whatever floats your boat, Yuuri!”

 

***

 

Yuuri tried to spend the rest of the day finishing the flower crowns, hoping that it would drown out the thoughts inside of his mind. But they didn’t.

 

With every breath, he remembered Viktor’s smell. With every glance, he remembered how Viktor had looked. Every touch reminded him of the touch Viktor had given him. All the flowers reminded him of the crown he had sitting beside his bed, untouched since he had taken it off. It felt as if it was something from another world, and though he hadn’t reached for it again, he spent hours starting at it.

 

As he got time to calm down, reality hit hard. He really didn’t know what he was going to do. Phichit knew of him, but had never seen him. No one else knew anything of the man Yuuri had had the privilege of seeing three times, of speaking with, of being with. He should have asked Viktor if he wanted to be kept a secret.

 

The whole town based their existence on Viktor’s existence. If they knew, he didn’t know what they would do. Worship him, perhaps. Lock him away. Create a tourist attraction out of him. Overwhelm him.

 

He didn’t want that to happen. He curled his arms around his chest, halting his creation for just a second as he thought about it. He wanted Viktor to be free, to be able to walk the forest, to come and go as he wanted. He had only just met the man, but he already wanted to keep him as his own little secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> Concerning an update schedule, I may fall in with my usual Thursday updates. As the fic goes on, I might update it twice a week as it's much shorter chapters than my previous fic, but I will keep everyone updated about that on my tumblr!
> 
> My tumblr   
> [here](https://lanaberryrawr.tumblr.com/)


	3. Anthurium

Yuuri expected his life to change. Things didn’t stay the same after meeting someone like Viktor.

 

He just wasn’t prepared for how much it transformed.

 

He blinked away the sleep in his eyes, listening to the birds sing in the morning outside of his window, light filtering in. He rubbed his face, stretching his toes under the covers. A grumble at the back of his throat bubbled, and it was only then that he noticed there was an added weight he was unfamiliar with on his bed. He slowly opened his eyes again, turning his face towards the solid form.

 

As the blurriness of sleep melted from his gaze, the form came into view. They were bathed in morning light as they sat at the edge of his bed, leaning over him. A cascade of silver hair hung like a curtain over him, shielding him from the glare outside, tickling his chest where the covers had slipped to expose. As the details became sharper, he saw the gentle smile and the wide blue eyes only a little off from him, Viktor’s head bent to hover over his.

 

It took a moment. Somewhere, he recognised what was happening. But it took a moment for his mind to realise that he should be shocked. When his body finally caught up with his mind, he jumped and scrambled away, his heart jumping suddenly.

 

“V-Viktor?” he asked, his voice hoarse from sleep. “What are you doing in here?”

 

Viktor sat innocently on his bed, legs crossed, skin exposed, flowers clinging to his skin. He tilted his hair to the side and it rippled softly, laying over his shoulders. “Waiting for you to wake up.”

 

“Why?” He left his bed and began to filter through his drawers. He was up now, may as well get going, and trying to ignore the fact that a naked man sat on his unmade bed.

 

“I got bored.” When Yuuri was looking at him, Viktor explained, “Walking around a forest for hours gets boring quickly. Especially if you’ve done it for years.”

 

“Oh, I suppose so.” He quickly excused himself to change in the bathroom, all the while hoping for a moment to allow his mind to catch up with the situation. All the other times Yuuri had met with Viktor, it had been like walking out of a story. Mysterious, lurking in the forest, showing up unannounced in his living room. Today, this time, he reminded Yuuri more of a bored child demanding attention. The thought made him laugh.

 

When he finished and walked back into the bathroom, Viktor asked, “What were you laughing about?”

 

“Uh, just remembered something funny, is all,” Yuuri replied quickly. “How did you get in?”

 

Viktor gave a smirk that warmed Yuuri’s blood. “Don’t you think you should have asked that yesterday?” Before Yuuri could answer, he raised his palm and conjured petals to land in a pile on his skin. “Petals can get in anywhere.”

 

“That’s a little creepy.” He flinched. “Uh, I mean, that can be a good thing to have.”

 

Viktor chuckled and rose from the bed.

 

Yuuri covered his eyes again. It was too early in the morning for this. “I have the clothes you borrowed before still, on top of the dresser.”

 

He heard a sigh, and then the tell-tale rustle as Viktor covered himself. Once he gave the okay, Yuuri dropped his hands. The top was just as short, and the trousers just as tight, but at least it did its job.

 

“What’s the plan for today?”

 

“Uh, well, I have to go out and help with the festival-”

 

“Festival? That’s coming soon?”

 

“Yeah, it’s in a few days. You didn’t know?”

 

Viktor shook his head and began looking around the room, as if the subject was beginning to lose his interests. “I don’t really care about it, so don’t keep up with it.”

 

“But isn’t it celebrating you?”

 

Viktor found the crown he had gifted Yuuri, and found he was pleased that the boy had placed it in a treasured place beside his bed. “No, not me. The festival celebrates Blodeuwedd, one of my kind from many years ago. She’s long gone now, though.”

 

“Oh.” Yuuri rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. Everything was happening so fast. It had barely been a few days since he met Viktor, and already he was learning that what their town was based on was both truth and lie at the same time. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

 

“I never knew her.” Viktor placed the crown back down carefully. “What is the festival like?”

 

“Beautiful. It’s filled with flowers, lots of food, tourists and locals alike. It’s got a lovely atmosphere.” He checked the clock on the wall, and having noticed that time had already slipped by, began to fluster. He ran around his room, pulling on his socks, searching for his glasses. “I need to go! I’m sorry, I know you’re bored but I have to help out and people will get suspicious if I don’t turn up. Um, you’re welcome to stay here if you want, wait for me to get back?”

 

Viktor watched as Yuuri rushed through the house, switching the lights off and gathering his things before throwing on his coat before calling back a goodbye and slamming the door shut. Like a whirlwind, he thought. A tornedo crashing through the house with one set goal in mind. He smiled at himself.

 

He hadn’t been to the festival himself, though he had heard about it from some of his kind. Word passed, as rarely it did, and Viktor had never really been interested in attending before. He’d watched from afar, from the lining of the trees and not completely understood it. But as his interest dwindled, he turned away and found better entertainment in the forest. As he always did. As he always had before he happened upon Yuuri.

 

With a smile and a resolution, he searched Yuuri’s wardrobe for better clothes.

 

***

 

Yuuri rushed to join Phichit in the centre of town. He finds himself a little early, having thought he was later than expected. Nothing like a flower man randomly appearing in your bedroom to set the morning into motion, he thought.

 

But he only needed to wait a few minutes before Phichit appeared, strolling casually through the throngs of people as if they weren’t there.

 

They greeted one another before Yuuri asked, “What are we doing?”

 

Phichit replied, “Most of the decorations have been done, we just need to go around and make sure that there isn’t anything left out. We might need to help with setting up the stalls too. Mrs Jones has asked for our help.”

 

After years of the same routine, setting up for a world-famous festival became something Yuuri could do in his sleep. Phichit, however, threw himself into the festival. It was his life blood, his annual obsession, and if he could he would have dictated the whole thing. Nothing happened in the preparations that Phichit wasn’t aware of or took a part in.

 

They began to wander the big main square, noticing the influx of new tourists. The fountain was overtaken by photographers, cafes crowded with lines standing outside to be seated. The lobby of the small hotel in the right corner of the square had hundreds coming and going, the art gallery beside it having to open its fire doors in order to accommodate the crowds. The stalls had begun to be prepared, metal structures clanging their way on the cobblestones, locals pushing the tourists away. Yurio, helping his grandfather set his own stall, held a metal pole and pushed the tourists away with shouts.

 

Mrs Jones was a kind old lady, widowed a decade ago, that made a living from creating figures. Most were created in the flower woman’s image, but there were many she sold. Her hands shook and her back arched, her dentures too loose in her mouth and the wrinkles in her skin like a detailed map, but her figures were things of beauty. Her hands stopped shaking when she touched clay, as if the experience of the previous years taking over her frail frame. Her creations were just as beautiful as they had been when she was young and spritely.

 

She greeted them with a gummy smile. It was one of the things that struck Yuuri every time he saw her. Her sparkling eyes, her laughter lines, her soft face reminded him that she was once one of the most beautiful people in town, chased after by all of the interested when she was his age. But beautiful Mrs Jones only had eyes for one, the daughter of the town baker. The old mischievous twinkle in her pupils still sparked.

 

“Hello, boys,” she greeted as they neared. Beside her, carefully boxed figures were stacked, the stand waiting and ready to be set up.

 

Yuuri bowed to her. “Hello, Mrs Jones, a lovely day.”

 

“That it is.” The old woman cast her eyes to the sky, watching the clouds as they rolled by.

 

Some might have thought it small talk, but Yuuri knew that the older generation spoke of the weather as something of a main topic. Living in a country in which the weather changed quickly, it was important to know. News made it easy now for people like Yuuri to know what was coming, but Mrs Jones came from a generation in which they spoke of the weather, heard about what was to come from others in conversation. Old habits die hard, as they said.

 

“Clouds look light,” she continued. “Good weather for a festival.”

 

“It’s meant to rain tomorrow though,” Phichit informed. “Is this all of the stand, Mrs J?”

 

“It’s all the men brought.”

 

Yuuri and Phichit got to work, falling into the old routine of setting up stands. Mrs Jones watched from the side-lines as she began to unpackage her figures carefully, each wrapped in layers upon layers of bubble wrap. She placed them on boxes and spoke with passing tourists as they stopped to inquire. Even sold some before the stand was up.

 

Yuuri slotted in the metal parts, knowing his fingers would smell of iron for the rest of the day. He’d need to wash them many times before he moved onto his crowns. As the final structure began to fall into place, they nailed down the side walls. Sweat beaded at the top of his forehead, dripping down his temple and over his cheek. The sun above pushed through the thin clouds, and the main square was filled with the noises of chatter.

 

They began to stack the figures onto the shelves once finished, carefully touching the thin creations. Yuuri took notice of the craftmanship, the small details that only a steady hand could give, life in those faces that only a trained eye could catch. There was no doubt that Mrs Jones was the best at her trade, and it showed in the fact she managed to chase away any competition. Many had tried to do what she did, and only she stood now. Yuuri hoped he could be the same. He knew a few people around town who had taken an interest in creating crowns too, and some days Yuuri’s anxiety told him that they could beat him – that if someone else came along, he would be easily beaten. On good days, he reminded himself of people like Mrs Jones who fought, and he knew he could too.

 

The dull metal of the stall was livened up by her creations, all lining the wall in bursts of colours. Phichit snapped a quick picture before they finished, advising Mrs Jones that she set up her own social media account or website to better help her sell her art.

 

She waved the comment away. “I best work with word of mouth,” she replied. “And if I haven’t built enough reputation by now, bach, then I’ve not done anything.” And then she gave them some money and sweets to thank them for their hard work. They tried to push theirs back, telling the woman that they had done it to help, not for any profit. But they only attempted it once. If there was anything to be said about the older generation of Dewin Oak, it was that they would not take no for an answer.

 

It was as Yuuri was finishing up another stall that he saw a flash of silver in the crowd. He straightened his back and glanced around as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. Silver didn’t appear again, and he was sure he had imagined it. But as he bent to continue working, he heard a voice. A familiar voice.

 

He jumped up faster than if someone had shocked him. His wild eyes zipped through the crowd, searching for the taller man, the one with the lightest hair Yuuri had ever seen, the bluest eyes, the most charming smile.

 

It didn’t take long to find him. Viktor stood amongst the crowd, speaking to some of the tourists who wanted to compliment him on the crown he wore atop his head. He’d tied up his hair into a high pony tail, the silver cascading down his back. He wore Yuuri’s larger T-shirt, one he wore during his chubbier phase but seemed to fill Viktor’s muscles easily. On his bottoms were some of Yuuri’s plain black trousers, hiding the fact that they were a little tight around his waist, but Yuuri saw. On his feet were some of Yuuri’s dress shoes, kept at the bottom of the closet for special occasions.

 

His clothes were among one of the first things he noticed. But the main was the surprising lack of flowers on Viktor. Besides the flower crown -the creation of blue, Yuuri’s very favourite – there was no sight of a flower on Viktor’s form. His skin was pale, smooth, not made of fluttering petals Yuuri had come to know. None were caught in his hair. Viktor did not look like the flower man Yuuri had come to know. The only indication he was anything mythical was his beauty.

 

Yuuri was not the only one to notice. Crowds gathered around the man, asking questions, seemingly thinking he was some local hidden beauty or a celebrity coming to see the festival. Many asked for questions, and Viktor did not deny them.

 

Yuuri stood there with his mouth gaping, unsure on what to do. He had thought Viktor didn’t want to be seen by humans, and that it was why he hid in the forest for so long, away from their prying eyes. But here he stood among them, one of them. And he looked not at all uncomfortable.

 

Yuuri found his feet moving before he could stop them, his eyes trained solely on Viktor. Their eyes met, and Viktor’s smile beamed. He called his name, drawing more attention.

 

“Viktor?” Yuuri asked once they became level. “What are you doing here?”

 

Was this alright? What could he say? What did he do?

 

Because Viktor stood here, amongst them all, the very mythical being that their town celebrated.

 

Viktor tore himself away from the middle of the crowd, his hand reaching to clutch at Yuuri’s damp top. “I came to see you.”

 

I told you do wait, Yuuri found himself thinking. But he drove that away quickly. It sounded too commanding, too much like he expected Viktor do obey, as if he wanted to keep him hidden. It wasn’t at all what he meant, but he was unsure. Viktor had made it clear he didn’t want to be known. So what was happening? “Oh, well, thank you.”

 

“I don’t get to come to town often,” Viktor explained, knowing the weight of the words would only be known to Yuuri. “And I wanted to see the preparations for the festival.”

 

Yuuri glanced around, ignoring the fact that he too had become the centre of attention. He was the one who knew the beautiful stranger, and he had no doubts he would be asked many difficult questions because of it. “It’s not finished yet,” Yuuri told Viktor. “We were just helping with some stalls.”

 

“Show me.”

 

Yuuri turned, catching Phichit’s gaze. A question was caught there, but Yuuri looked somewhere else. He knew that his expression would tell Phichit enough of what was happening. With Viktor’s hand still clutched in his top, he led the man towards the few stalls that they had finished. Mrs Jones had been the only one complete with her creations on the shelves, and Viktor made a beeline for it.

 

His eyes gleamed like a child, Yuuri thought. He stood beside the man, watching his face, curious as to what a beautiful flower being could look like with every expression.

 

Viktor picked up one of the smaller pieces, a figure of the flower woman dancing, a wind of flowers flowing in a spiral around her carefully covered form. Her long blonde hair twisted gracefully around her shoulders, curling along the edges. The detail in the flowers was breath-taking, and it seemed that even the muse himself thought so too.

 

“This is gorgeous,” Viktor whispered, turning it around to view the whole thing.

 

Mrs Jones appeared from beside the stall. His narrowed gaze settled on Viktor, before it snapped to Yuuri. “A friend, Yuuri?” she asked.

 

“Ah, yes. Mrs Jones, this is Viktor. Viktor, this is Mrs Jones, the creator of these pieces.”

 

“These are beautiful!” Viktor turned his compliment on her, but gasped when the old lady’s hand cupped his cheek.

 

“High cheek bones,” she muttered to herself. “Pale skin, full lips, long eyelashes, sky blue eyes. Lovely jaw.” She dropped her hand and gave Viktor a small smile. “You must model for me, Viktor.”

 

Viktor’s eyes sparkled. He gave a form nod.

 

Yuuri was about to take Viktor away as he saw the look in the lady’s eyes. She seemed interested in Viktor, and he knew it was because of her love for models and art, but he couldn’t help but convince himself it was because she knew. She crafted figures of Blodeuwedd, so of course she could stop Viktor as one of them. It was ridiculous, and perhaps the stress of his job was getting to him, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking it. He reached to turn Viktor towards him when he felt a hand fall on his shoulder.

 

Phichit stood beside him, but his gaze was set on the side of Viktor’s face. It wasn’t often that Yuuri saw Phichit so serious, but his lips were set in a thin line, eyes calculating. Viktor continued to speak with the old lady, drawing smiles from her as if they were easy.

 

“Yuuri, who’s he?” Phichit asked. Yuuri could hear the underlying question underneath his breath, the slight need for his curiosity to be satisfied. He turned his eyes to Yuuri, demanding his attention. “I haven’t seen him around before.”

 

And Phichit knew everyone. That was how Yuuri knew he couldn’t pose Viktor off as a tourist, because Viktor didn’t look like one, didn’t have the image that they had become experts in recognising. He wasn’t a local either. For Phichit, that left one answer. “His name is Viktor.”

 

“He’s very beautiful, Yuuri.”

 

“He is.” Because why deny it?

 

“He’s got your flower crown on.”

 

“He does.”

 

“It suits him very well.”

 

Yuuri sighed and looked away. He watched the smile on Viktor’s face as he continued to speak, handling new figures that Mrs Jones handed him with incredible care. His long, slim fingers graced the gloss, drawing Yuuri’s gaze. Every inch of Viktor was perfect, he thought. Every movement beautiful. Every breath perfection. “If you’re trying to hint at something, Phichit, just come out and ask it.”

 

“Is he?” Phichit’s own voice had slipped lower, barely above a whisper for only them to hear.

 

“He is.” There was no use hiding it. He’d apologise to Viktor later. He’d say that there was no way to avoid it, because Phichit always knew when he was lying. Yuuri could try, and sometimes he did, especially during his darkest days. “I’m fine” was never a truth to Phichit’s ears, and Phichit would always see through it. Just as he would see through it if Yuuri claimed Viktor was human. Was just like them.

 

There was silence for the longest moment as both men stared at Viktor. Yuuri knew what was going through Phichit’s head – the same thing that had gone through his own: For all of their days spent in this town, they had been raised on the tale of the flower woman, and to have one of that kind here, in front of them, almost felt as if they were caught in some film, some story.

 

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Yuuri found himself almost begging. “He doesn’t want people to know. I don’t know why, but he doesn’t.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Viktor turned, holding a figure in his hands, his eyes gleaming as they connected with Yuuri’s. “Yuuri, isn’t this gorgeous?”

 

Yuuri stepped forwards to view the figure – the flower woman was caught in a waterfall, washing her flowers of dirt and grime. Petals fell into the pool at her feet, glistening in gloss to mimic the rays of sun. Her long blonde hair covered the intimate parts of her body, the flowers slipping down her legs. It almost seemed as if she was attempting to shed the part of her that made her what she was.

 

“It really is,” he replied, raising a smile to Viktor. “Do you want it?”

 

Viktor faltered for a second, his glance flickering to the art. “I can have it?”

 

“I can buy it for you?” Gifting a flower man a statue of Blodeuwedd. He never once thought this would happen, but shrugged to himself and began to reach for his wallet in his back pocket. Mrs Jones placed a hand on his arm, halting him.

 

“No, no, dear, I’ll not have you pay. If this young gentleman would model for me, that would be payment enough.”

 

“Really?”

 

Yuuri couldn’t ignore the way Viktor asked that, or the way his smile brightened, his eyes sparkled. In that moment, Yuuri realised it wasn’t just boredom that had brought Viktor down from the forest. His heart twinged in his chest and he swallowed away the lump in his throat. He watched as Mrs Jones wrapped the figure carefully in bubble wrap and paper, giving care every step of the way. Viktor accepted it gently and held it to his chest. He gave his thanks and returned to Yuuri, the grin on his face hard to remove.

 

It was only then that Viktor noticed Phichit standing there. Yuuri rushed to say, “Ah, Viktor, this is my best friend Phichit. Phichit, this is Viktor.”

 

Phichit had done well in hiding his past surprise. He held out a hand and shook Viktor’s free one, treating him as he would any other. “Nice to meet you.”

 

“And nice to meet you, too.”

 

“Looking forward to the festival, Viktor?”

 

Yuuri’s eyes snapped to his friend, knowing that while Phichit would keep it a secret, he wouldn’t be able to refuse teasing him. “Phichit-”

 

But Viktor nodded his head enthusiastically, his hair whipping behind his head. “Yes! Very much. If the town looks this good now, I can’t wait until the festival itself.”

 

“Have you been before?” Phichit asked.

 

“Not properly. It’ll be my first.”

 

Phichit turned his grin to Yuuri. “You’ll need to show him around properly, Yuuri. Tell him all about the stories that inspired the festival, what lurks in the forest.”

 

Yuuri was about to reprimand Phichit and tell him he was being childish, but he caught Viktor’s expression in the corner of his eye. He might have been imaging it, but it was like Viktor flinched quickly. When Yuuri turned to him, he saw that the smile was in place, but smaller, unable to reach his eyes, eyes that seemed to have lost their sparkle. When he noticed Yuuri watching, he widened his smile at the attention, but it seemed almost fake, pressed. Yuuri wondered what had gone wrong.

 

***

 

Yuuri began to notice a pattern. As they wandered the town, helping with preparations and ensuring that everything would be ready for the upcoming festival, they were stopped by locals and tourists alike, all captured by Viktor.

 

It wasn’t that. Viktor seemed to like talking to everyone, delving into answers to the simplest questions. But then they called him beautiful. They told him how he seemed to walk out of a story book, with inhuman eyes, like a legend. They made him otherworldly, without knowing. And it was here that Yuuri noticed Viktor’s smile would falter. And each time, he would always look back at those he had spoken with when they walked away.

 

Yuuri didn’t know what it meant, and so he didn’t say anything. He himself had called Viktor beautiful, and the man had had no such reaction. Well, he thought he hadn’t, but now he wasn’t so sure. Viktor gripped his covered figure to his chest, and his voice would become quiet. He’d watch the crowds around him, like an outsider.

 

Yuuri didn’t want to think too much about it, just in case he saw things that weren’t there. He did it often, he knew, but something told him this was not the case. Something was wrong. But he didn’t know what. He didn’t know how to fix it. He’d only known Viktor for a short amount of time, after all.

 

He bid Phichit a goodbye when he was ready to go home. He didn’t ask Viktor if he was coming too, or if he would be returning to the trees for the night. Instead, he kept quiet as Viktor followed with the figure still in his hands, held closely.

 

Yuuri didn’t ask where he would be putting it either. From what he knew, Viktor didn’t have a house, didn’t stay somewhere in the woods. The myths never said anything about it, and he didn’t feel it was the right time to ask.

 

Viktor followed him all the way home, slipping inside when Yuuri held the door open for him. As he switched on the lights, Viktor began to rip the covering from the figure, his careful fingers slow.

 

Yuuri watched. Something ached in his chest, a press to the side of his eyes. The tension was heavy, and he didn’t know what to do. In the low light of the evening, Viktor unwrapped the figure completely and stared at it, his gaze flicking over the detail.

 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he asked.

 

Yuuri ignored the way Viktor asked it, the awe he had kept before gone. He still loved it, Yuuri could see, but there was a deeper meaning now. “It is.”

 

“She has long hair.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Like me.”

 

“Yes.”

 

There was more silence as Viktor stared at it, and he grimaced for a second before he turned his gaze towards Yuuri. The fake smile slipped back onto his lips, and while Yuuri smiled back, he knew neither felt the same. Viktor asked, “Can you tell me about the myth your town knows? About the flower lady.”

 

“Oh, okay. But I thought you already knew it.”

 

“But I want to know what you know. I want to know how you saw her.”

 

Yuuri nodded. “Okay.” He didn’t know what compelled him, but he reached the grip Viktor’s sleeve. Viktor didn’t flinch, not as he expected him to, and he guided him to sit on the sofa.

 

There was a moment of hesitation as he recalled every detail in his mind that the town had circulated. And then he began to tell the legend, of a beautiful woman made of flowers for a king by a wizard. Of how she had fallen in love with a lord and plotted to kill her husband to be with her lover, of evil and treachery, of attempted murder. And of her punishment as she was turned into an owl, cursed to the fly woods for the duration of her life. It was a short tale, and many of the names were difficult for Yuuri to pronounce. But once he finished, Viktor gave a nod.

 

“Most beautiful woman on earth,” he muttered to himself. His thumb pressed on the figure, stroking along the waves of the pool. “Made of flowers, something natural, but feared. Something wrong. Something inhuman.”

 

Yuuri kept silent, knowing this was not the place for him to speak. Whatever it was that Viktor was working through, it was his alone until the moment he could ask Yuuri for help. Both men knew that. But he did reach to cover Viktor’s hand in his own, to stroke his fingers over the warm skin, thinking in his own mind how like and unlike Viktor was to humans.

 

They stayed like that for a moment before Viktor stood and placed the figure on the mantle-piece. “Do you mind if I leave it here for the time being?”

 

“No, not at all.” He watched Viktor from where he was sat. Viktor’s back was large as it faced him, his delicate strands of hair falling to his lower spine. They swayed with each movement he made, shimmering.

 

So caught with his form was he that Yuuri didn’t realise Viktor was beginning to disappear. The petals of his skin began to peel from his body and fly toward the open kitchen window. Within a matter of seconds, he was gone, a pile of clothes and a flower crown settled nearly on top in his wake.

 

Yuuri didn’t know why, but he began cry. Only little tears, pressed to the side of his eyes. Two rolled down his cheeks and landed on his lap. Seeing something so beautiful so sad made him feel terrible. He wanted to make Viktor smile. He wiped the tears with the back of his hand and rose, taking the bundle of clothes back to his bedroom. The next time he saw Viktor, he would strive to make the man happy, he thought.

 

***

 

Yuuri spent the night thinking about what could have upset Viktor so much. He thought about the pattern, of the way he would seem to deflate every time someone mentioned how beautiful he was. Or more so, how inhuman he seemed.

 

A word that Viktor had used to describe the flower woman. Inhuman. Something told him he might have been describing himself in that moment too. Viktor had used it many times that day. A theory formed inside of him, clutching at his heart in a deathly grip. Did Viktor want to be human?

 

To be able to walk the town without fear of discovery, to move and speak like them, to take part in a festival for the enjoyment of it rather than knowing it was because of his kind. To be able to not worry about how people would react if they knew. To have a life. Perhaps he was projecting thoughts into the man, Yuuri wondered. Perhaps these weren’t his thoughts at all. But he knew he was right.

 

It must have been lonely in the forest by himself. Viktor had said there weren’t many of their kind around, and that he hadn’t met some for a long time. Lonely and boring, knowing that he could never really walk a town for fear of being found out. What would a town who were obsessed with the story do to him? Perhaps Viktor understood that more than Yuuri did.

 

Late at night when Yuuri found he couldn’t sleep, he slipped into the living room to glance at the figure once again. It really was beautiful, and he was drawn back to the thought he had when he’d first seen it. The petals washing away, as if the woman wanted to shed herself of them. Was that why Viktor had loved it so? Did he want to be rid of the flowers that made him?

 

He trailed his fingers over the form, comparing it to what he knew of Viktor. Really the only similarities were the flowers and the long hair. Besides that, there was nothing to be able to draw resemblances. But maybe that was enough.

 

He’d speak to Viktor about it when the man was ready, he thought. Not before, for fear of chasing him off. For whatever reason, Viktor had thought Yuuri good enough to meet with, the only human of the town he had shown himself – at least of what Yuuri knew. He didn’t want to betray that faith and trust.

 

And then he would take Viktor to the festival, a day for him to enjoy what he was from the eyes of the town and tourists. He would show him around all the stalls, meet some of his friends, eat some of the festival food – thinking of it, did Viktor even eat? He’d show him the games in the main square, the art gallery’s art event, the costume competitions set in the hall, and the dance at the end of the night. There was so much to show Viktor, and the potential made Yuuri giddy.

 

He wasn’t sure why. But the thought of guiding Viktor through the festival made his heart soar.

 

He’d talk to Viktor about it when he came back tomorrow, he thought. He’d tell Viktor all of the good things the festival gave, things he had forgotten himself after years of the same thing. Being able to show it to fresh eyes relighted the fire inside of him, and he wanted more than anything to show Viktor the enjoyment the town could provide.

 

The morning came slowly. He hadn’t slept much, but he rose with bleary eyes and began to tick off the things to do for the day. He immediately sat at his desk and began to finish the crowns that needed urgent attention.

 

He waited for the moment a petal would flutter beside him, announcing the arrival of its owner. But as the hours began to tick by, no announcement was made. The house was cold and empty, attributes Yuuri had never used to describe it before. Viktor’s laugh was missing, his warmth, his intruding curiosity lacking. Yuuri shook his head and knew it would come soon. Viktor would come soon.

 

But he didn’t.

 

As it came closer to the time for Yuuri to return to the centre of town to finish off the last few preparations, his hope dwindled. It was still morning, he told himself. Perhaps Viktor was already in the town, speaking to Mrs Jones, or some of the tourists, or nosing his way through the others he hadn’t spoken to.

 

Yuuri packaged up a finished crown and flicked the lights off, taking one last glance back. He had a delivery to make.

 

Stop worrying, he told himself. Viktor wouldn’t stay away for long. Yuuri didn’t know how he knew, but he just did. Viktor had grown attached to him, and Yuuri knew he had grown attached to the other. As if reminding him, his breath hitched. He placed the box under his arm and clutched at the centre of his chest.

 

“He’ll come back,” he whispered to himself as he hurried into the centre of town. “He’ll have to come back.” And then they would talk and Yuuri could settle Viktor’s fears.

 

He met with Phichit on beside the busy fountain and held out the box before his friend could say anything. “Here,” he announced, placing a smile on his own lips. “It took a while, but it’s finally finished.”

 

Phichit’s eyes widened as he reached for it. Words died in his throat and he rushed to open the lid. “Oh my god, Yuuri, this is better than I imagined.”

 

Yuuri rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment, but couldn’t stop the proud grin from growing. “Thank you.”

 

“Seriously, it always amazes me how you can make something so amazing from just a request.”

 

Phichit was always the best at giving him praise, no words held back. He watched as Phichit placed the box lid carefully back before looping his arm with Yuuri’s.

 

“Come on,” he said. “We only have a little time left before the festival. It’s set to rain today.”

 

Above head, dark clouds had already begun to slowly roll through the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bach - small (but used as a term of endearment)
> 
> I've decided that because of how short these chapters are, my update schedule will be Thursdays and Sundays. Which means that wow this is going to be done quite a bit faster than November's Secret haha If there is any problems with that schedule, I'll have updates on my tumblr 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr   
> [here](https://lanaberryrawr.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you all for reading!


	4. Anemone

The was an urgent rush in the centre of town. The beginnings of a harsh wind blew over the rooves of the buildings, picking up as they rustled the trees. It whipped and whistled between the alleys, messing up clothes, bringing a chill.

 

“Get the stands up before it starts pouring!” someone yelled to their right.

 

They’d been blessed with good weather for the last few days, a rarity in this area. The weather could turn just as easily as a hormonal teenager, so said some of the townsfolk. Tourists sought shelter in their hired rooms, while the locals faced the change and finished the preparations.

 

Yuuri and Phichit wrestled with a tarp for the food and drinks tent, the wind making it hard for them to hold onto. It danced in the air, struggling to tear from their grips, but they fought with it. Yuuri took massive knots in his clutches and pulled the tarp down before it could be pulled from them, his muscles straining at the power.

 

Eventually, they managed to get it into place, helped by a few others as they threw it over the structure and secured it. It waved in the wild wind, but the ties made sure it would not be going anywhere. They were experts by now. Tourists often joked that those that lived in Dewin Oak seemed so in tune with nature that they could not be defeated by it. Give them sunshine or rain, wind or snow, the people of this town could face it.

 

Yuuri wiped the rapidly cooling sweat from his brow, his heart hammering in his chest.

 

“It’s getting worse,” a man Yuuri recognised as the local journalist informed.

 

Another replied, “Let’s just get the tables in before we retreat.”

 

A cluster of locals rushed to where the tables were ready to be taken, brought in by the movers only that morning. There were many, such a big tent needed filling, and the food and drinks tent was always the busiest during the festival. But as Yuuri and Phichit began to lift one, he glanced around to see that many had come to their aid. They heaved the table between them and began to carry it to the tent.

 

The clouds above them began to churn darker. Yuuri heard the tell-tale pitter patter of the first few droplets, darkening the surface of the table.

 

“It’s starting,” he told Phichit, encouraging that they move faster. The last thing they needed was to be caught in a downpour.

 

As if the heavens opened up, the first small drops were followed by larger ones, trailing down their cheeks. Far off in a part of the forest, a shock of lightening coloured the sky. A clap of thunder followed a few seconds later, shaking the floor. 

 

They placed the table in the tent and manoeuvred out, rushing just as the rain began to crash to the floor. Yuuri pulled his shirt up over his head, wishing he had brought a coat this day. Behind them, as the last of the tables were done, other locals followed suit.

 

They found shelter within Chris’ café, the closest thing to them. Tourists watched as they rushed in, drenched in rainwater, hair sticking to their faces.

 

Chris was waiting, ready. “Drinks?”

 

“Something warm,” Phichit begged.

 

A table was prepared for those who had rushed in from the rain. Easier to clean, Chris had explained years ago, when a situation much like this happened. Keep all the drowned rats in one area. The table was beside the radiators, and Yuuri took the moment to take off his shirt, leaving him in his vest, and place it on the radiator. Many of the others followed his example, placing their wet overclothes onto the warm heaters.

 

Chris was back with warm drinks, placing them on the table and bathed in the sighs of relief.

 

“You’re our saviour,” Phichit complimented, gulping down the hot liquid.

 

Yuuri took a small sip, finding it still too hot for him to take larger ones, but almost moaned when he felt the heat fill his chilled core. He felt it slip down his gullet, all the way to his stomach, warming him from the inside out. He held the warmth in his hands, feeling the steam warm his cold lips, and almost smiled.

 

But at the back of his mind, he still listened to the roar of the wind outside, the crashing of the rain on the roof and the cobblestones, the faraway thunder striking in the sky. He wondered where Viktor was in all of this. Was he hiding in the trees? Had he found shelter? Was he at Yuuri’s, waiting? He’d never needed to worry about him before, never knew that somewhere in the forest, Viktor was in the middle of weather like this. But now he did, and after how Viktor had left the day before, the worry only grew. He took another sip to feel the coffee fill his body. Perhaps it would calm him down.

 

The café was a buzz with noise, of tourists all speaking about what they had seen in the town, what they would like to see, and about the upcoming festival. Locals talked about their everyday lives, about how their families were doing. Sometimes, a tourist would seek out a local for sight-seeing advice, or wonder what the festival really was like. There was laughter, almost loud enough to drown out the storm outside. Almost.

 

As he was halfway through his drink, another body came rushing through the door, dripping with the rain. He pulled down his hood and shook himself off.

 

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Phichit said, taking the last sip of his coffee.

 

Yurio turned his glare to the older man, his blond hair stuck to the skin of his forehead. “Oh, shut up. Very funny.”  


The teen took off his hoodie and draped it along the heater beside Yuuri’s, going so far as to slip off his shoes and put them on as well. He threw himself onto the seat beside them, slipping down until he was almost level with the table and his chin was touching his chest.

 

“How’s your cat?” Yuuri found himself asking.

 

Yurio’s face softened. “She’s fine. Eating me and grandpa out of house and home though.”

 

“That’s good to hear. You were pretty worried.”

 

Yurio’s face pinked and he looked away. “No, I wasn’t. She’s my cat. Of course she was going to be fine.”

 

“Of course,” Yuuri replied. He took another sip of his coffee, finding it cooling, and took another after it. The howling outside no longer brought chills to his skin.

 

Outside of the windows, the main square had been abandoned. The fountain was switched off, the stalls closed and secured, the cobblestones washed with rain. Though it was only midday, the darkness in the sky forced the lamps to flicker on. Across the way, the buildings were filled with those seeking a dry place to hide in.

 

He’d need to find Viktor, he thought. It was too cold to be out in the forest like this. It was too wet, and the trees didn’t provide cover everywhere. Had he left any of the windows open? Could Viktor get in? In the next break of the weather, he’d see.

 

But it didn’t calm for a long time. He ordered another coffee while he waited for his clothes to warm and dry. Slowly, his hair began to fluff back up into the mop above his head, his cheeks no longer cold. A local band took to the small stage at the back, their original songs filtering through the busy café.

 

“Every year,” Phichit was saying. “Every year it’s a rush to finish things, and even though we say setting up the tent was the last thing we needed to do, you know there’s going to be something we’ve forgotten. Have people ordered the alcohol?”

 

“Done, you know Jolene was in charge of that,” someone replied.

 

“Entertainment?”

 

“All bands booked, bucking bronco already here, circus ready. Face painting. It’s all done, Phichit.”

 

“I just feel like we’ve forgotten something.”

 

“We haven’t, I’ve checked everything over a hundred times. The tent was the last thing we needed.”

 

Just as Phichit had said, every year. Every year Phichit felt like there had been something that was forgotten, and every year he was right. But Yuuri let others do the job of organising things – he could barely organise his own trade, let alone a massive annual festival. He stayed quiet and listened to their voices, sipping away his coffee and waiting for a break in the weather.

 

“I am so winning the bucking bronco competition,” Yurio claimed, sitting up and hitting his fist on the table.

 

“You know there isn’t any competition,” a woman laughed beside him.

 

“And every year I say make one. I’m going to win it.”

 

As Yurio fought, Phichit leaned closer to Yuuri and asked, “You alright?”

 

Yuuri snapped to him, giving a quick nod before he really thought about it. “Yeah, yeah. Why?”

 

“You look distracted.”

 

Yuuri took another sip of his coffee. “I’m fine.”

 

Phichit’s eyebrow rose. “Worrying about Viktor?”

 

Yuuri glanced around, making sure that their conversation was strictly secret, before he gave a sigh and another nod. “Yes. I don’t think he should be out in this weather.”

 

“I’m sure he’s done it many times before. In worse, probably.”

 

“I know, but now I know about it.”

 

“He’s quite literally a man of nature, Yuuri. I’m sure he would be able to cope better out there than any of us.”

 

“I know.” He really did. Viktor probably didn’t see the weather as any hindrance. The rain was probably nothing to him. And he wasn’t sure why he was worrying. But it was something about the way he had acted the day before, it left a sour taste in his mouth. “I’m still worried.”

 

“Maybe he’s hiding in one of the shops from the rain.”

 

“Maybe.” But Yuuri doubted it. Viktor had seemed happy walking among them yesterday, until they started to notice how different he was. It was like Viktor didn’t want to be reminded.

 

Phichit leaned forwards, resting an arm around his shoulders and pulling him closer. “I’m sure he’ll come again. From the sounds of it, these last few days he’s not wanted to be away from you.”

 

Yuuri chuckled. “I don’t know why.”

 

“I do. _I_ can barely be apart from you.” He chuckled and brought Yuuri in for a side-hug. “It’ll be fine. He’s probably waiting for you to come home.”

 

It was then that the weather began to break, he rain halting to a slow trickle. Phichit encouraged him to go then before another cloud rolled around, and Yuuri quickly pulled on his shirt.

 

Adrenaline rushed through him as he hoped that Viktor really was waiting at home. Viktor might have just been feeling bad yesterday, maybe he came back to view the figure he had given Yuuri to look after. He had been so taken with it, he couldn’t just leave it.

 

Yuuri cast a quick goodbye to them and rushed out of the door, running down the street while the weather was kept at bay. The cobblestones were slippery with rain water, and yet he still charged, confident that his many winter runs had helped his sense of balance. Or at least hoped it was enough.

 

The streets were clear save for him. The clouds still hung heavy above, and many people had seen fit to stay indoors until the whole thing had rolled over completely. The voices of the busy main square shops followed him from the doors until he reached the outskirts of town.

 

He kept running until he saw his own house. As he got closer, he saw the flicker of one of the faulty lights in his living room. He hadn’t left that on. He always made sure that everything was off before he left the house, the fear that one switch on could start a fire drummed in by his parents.

 

But there was something wrong about it. He needed to change the bulb, he knew that, but had always been too busy to or had forgotten. Flower crowns took priority this time of year. No other lights were on though, as if whoever was inside didn’t want too much light. It was quiet. He couldn’t see the tv on, couldn’t see anything pass the windows. Just the flicker of a dying light.

 

He slipped inside and saw that some of the doors have been left open, ones he knew he had closed. He closed the door behind him and called, “Viktor?”

 

It didn’t cross his mind that it could have been someone else. For some reason, he just knew it wasn’t. The place might have been quiet, but it didn’t seem broken into. His eyes caught a petal on the floor. He called again, “Viktor?”

 

As he moved into the house, he saw more petals, all trailing towards his bedroom. He followed slowly, unsure of what he would find. Something was wrong, he could feel it in the tension that settled heavy in the air, see it in the way the petals curled, forgotten. The figure on the mantelpiece stood untouched.

 

The wind picked up again outside, rain cascading down once more. The break had only been short, and he had just made it in time. The light of the living room flickered again, almost dying out. He pushed his bedroom door open fully, seeing a light filter in through the bathroom door. It was closed and Yuuri could hear nothing.

 

The tension inside of him was building. The trail of petals followed along the floor board, guiding him towards the closed door. He tapped his knuckles on it. “Viktor?” He waited for an answer, but nothing came. “Viktor, I’m home.”

 

There was a shuffle, and Yuuri waited for the door to open. But it didn’t. No other sounds came.

 

“Is it alright if I come in?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The voice on the other side was small, nothing like the vibrant bells he had come to know in the short time he had known Viktor. But it was unmistakably him. He opened the door slowly, giving Viktor enough time to get used to the idea, before the light of the bathroom engulfed them both.

 

It took a while for Yuuri to realise what it was he was seeing. Viktor was turned away from him, dressed only in some of Yuuri’s leisure trousers. He stood facing the mirror, one hand gripping the sink tightly until his knuckles turned white, and the other holding a pair of scissors Yuuri kept in the cabinet above the sink.

 

A mess of petals and long strands of silver hair lay at his feet. Viktor’s broad back was exposed completely to Yuuri’s sight, Viktor’s hair now cut short, thicker and longer on top but short at the back, messily done. Viktor watched him through the mirror, and Yuuri saw the fringe he had attempted to leave on his left, covering a little of his left eye. His blue eyes were wide, his face pale, the petals on his skin still there but seemed out of place somehow.

 

“Viktor?”

 

He didn’t get an answer, just a gulp and a still glance through the mirror. Yuuri thought he didn’t know what he was meant to do in this situation, had no idea what had compelled Viktor to do such a thing, but his body moved before he could stop it. He gripped Viktor’s arm, thankful that the man didn’t flinch in his vulnerable state, and encouraged him to sit on the lid of the toilet.

 

“I’ll fix it up for you,” Yuuri said gently, taking the scissors from Viktor’s hands. “Just stay still, alright?”

 

Viktor gave a small nod.

 

“You’ve done a good outline,” Yuuri complimented before he could stop the words from slipping out. He kept his voice small, comforting, non-threatening. He didn’t know why, but it seemed anything too loud or sudden might scare Viktor away. And he doubted he would come back for a long time. “I just need to go over what you’ve already done, and then it’ll look good.”

 

“It’ll look good?”

 

Viktor’s voice was so small, almost inaudible. Yuuri gave him a nod and began his job, starting with the fringe. It was still a little long, so he cut it until it fell just under Viktor’s eye. He didn’t dare cut it all away, figuring that Viktor would want something to hide behind. He knew the feeling all too well. “Yes, I’m sure. It’ll be quite different, but I’m sure if anyone could pull off this hairstyle, it would be you, Viktor.”

 

They were silent as Yuuri continued to tidy the edges, softening the fluff until it seemed almost professional. His parents had often done his hair and Mari’s to save money while their bath house had been just taking off. They’d taught him how to do hair as well, just in case he fell short of money and needed a quick cut. With some gel in his cabinet, he slicked some of the fringe to the side and washed away the petals that clung stubbornly to the strands. For some reason, Yuuri wasn’t sure Viktor would want to see them right now.

 

Once done, he stepped back. Viktor glanced up at him, still, awaiting judgement. His pale face had blushed with some colour over time, his blue eyes no longer as wild. The drastic change in hairstyle did make him seem like a completely different person in Yuuri’s eyes, it aged the man. But he gave a gentle smile, finding the style not at all bad.

 

“It does look good,” Yuuri assured the man. He took one of the smaller mirrors used for shaving from his cabinet and presented it to Viktor. “Have a look yourself.”

 

Viktor took a few silent minutes to really look at it, before he gave the smallest smile and nodded. “It’s very different.”

 

Yuuri knew it was what Viktor had wanted, and he wasn’t sure why. He cupped Viktor’s cheeks and pulled his face to look at him. “You go into the lounge, get yourself something to drink, and I’ll be in after I clean this up. Alright?”

 

“But-”

 

“Get yourself something to drink, Viktor. I’ll be in soon. We need to talk.”

 

This time, Viktor didn’t argue. He gave a nod and stepped out of the bathroom. Yuuri waited until he could hear the kettle boiling, and then glanced down at the mess of petals and hair. This had something to do with yesterday, he knew. Something to do with the way people called him beautiful, complimented him on his hair, his mythical looks. He took the broom from the cupboard and began to clean it up.

 

***

 

Viktor was sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea in his hands when Yuuri walked into the living room. He faced the fire, watched its new flickering flames, the cup pressed in his grip. His eyes glanced towards Yuuri upon his entrance, but snapped back away. He reminded Yuuri of a guilty child caught doing something that they shouldn’t have been.

 

Yuuri said nothing as he walked to the open kitchen, preparing his own cup of tea. He thought over things he could say in his head, because he knew he had to tread carefully. He wasn’t the best at consoling people – he wasn’t the best at words or actions really. He was always aware of how painfully awkward he could be, but he did try his best, and maybe that was all he needed to do.

 

The hot cup warmed his cold hands, a nice feeling when he could still hear the storm raging outside. The rain had let up to a small trickle, but the sky was still dark, the wind howling, cold sneaking in through the old house.

 

He sat beside Viktor on the sofa, still thinking of words. Viktor said nothing. He knew he would have to be the one to speak first, Viktor wasn’t making any move to say anything. He just didn’t know where to start.

 

“Viktor,” he began, making sure that his voice was strong but gentle. “What happened?”

 

Viktor didn’t say anything for a while. And then he shrugged. “I thought it was time for a change.”

 

He wouldn’t be getting a straight answer then, Yuuri thought. He didn’t blame the man, honestly, because he knew that it must have been a quick decision, spur of the moment. He was probably feeling a little ashamed. If they were going to get anywhere today, he knew he needed to ask some harsh questions. And he knew where to start. “Did you cut it because you don’t want to be what you are?”

 

More silence. He saw Viktor beginning to fiddle with his fingers.

 

“You looked upset when people complimented you on your hair. Every time they mentioned how beautiful you were.” He waited for Viktor to say something. When he didn’t, Yuuri slowly moved to sit closer, until their thighs touched and he knew Viktor could feel his warmth. “Is there a problem being what you are?”

 

“I don’t want to be this.”

 

The words were so quiet that Yuuri knew he would have missed it if he hadn’t been listening. “Why?”

 

“I want to be human,” Viktor replied, his voice stronger this time.

 

“How does cutting off most of your hair factor into that?”

 

“At least then I’m further from what they think I am.”

 

Yuuri would be lying if he said he understood. He didn’t, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He hadn’t been made of flowers for years, left to wander the forest alone, watching over a town of humans who all seemed to be having more fun than you. He wasn’t an object of myth. He didn’t need to fear discovery. He could never understand, but he’d try.

 

Viktor continued, “This town worships something that they think I am, but it’s not me. I’m not special, I just wander.”

 

“Do you want to be special?”

 

Viktor grunted, “That’s not what I mean.”

 

“Then what do you want to be?”

 

“I just want to be me.”

 

Yuuri allowed the words to sink in for a while, feeling the way they tore his breath from him, made his heart race. He’d never understand. “You?”

 

“I’ll never be me in the eyes of anyone else as long as I’m this. All they’ll ever see is beautiful, flowers, myth, something from centuries ago that doesn’t even live anymore. I’ll always just be a flower person, not Viktor. At least becoming human would give me an identity.” His voice broke on the last word.

 

Yuuri didn’t know what took over him, but he reached to take both of their cups and place them on the side table, then pulled the taller man into a hug. He felt Viktor stiffen, but melt into the embrace after a few seconds. He reached to hug Yuuri back, clung to him until there was not a space between them, placing his head into the crook of Yuuri’s neck and shoulder. He didn’t cry, but he shook, years’ worth of thoughts cascading into one explanation.

 

Nothing was said for what seemed like forever. Yuuri’s back began to ache, and he knew it must not have been comfortable for Viktor either, but he didn’t want to pull away. He rubbed comforting circles into Viktor’s sides, feeling him shake less as time wore on. He didn’t let go until Viktor pulled away.

 

He ran his hands through Viktor’s hair, the feel of a fresh cut softening the fine strands. “I think it really does look good on you. Ages you a little, but makes you look quite handsome.” He blushed at the compliments he was giving, but knew Viktor needed to hear them.

 

Viktor gave another soft smile. “Handsome?”

 

“Very much so.” He paused and attempted to cool the colour on his cheeks. “How old are you, Viktor?”

 

“Twenty-seven.”

 

Yuuri’s hands stilled. “Only twenty-seven?”

 

Viktor gave a nod and a small chuckle. “Did you expect me to be hundreds of years old?”

 

Yuuri’s embarrassed flush confirmed it.

 

Viktor gripped Yuuri’s hands and brought them down between them with a laugh. “We may be mythical but we don’t live that long.”

 

“Oh.” He hadn’t really given it much thought. After a brief silence, he asked, “How do you feel now?” He reached to place the cooling tea back into Viktor’s hands, urging him to drink. The older man had stopped shaking for the moment, but Yuuri still felt the overwhelming need to care for him.

 

“Much better.” Viktor gave another smile, and Yuuri was pleased to see that it was not pushed. He leaned forwards, collapsing into Yuuri’s embrace, surrounded by the younger man’s warmth. “Thank you, Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri hugged the man closer to him and kept silent. There were many more things he wanted to ask of the man. Something like this didn’t just happen, Viktor must have been brooding over these feelings for a very long time. Just a sit down and talking didn’t get rid of them, Yuuri knew that very well. But Viktor kept silent too, and Yuuri wondered if it was because he wanted the conversation to end. So Yuuri didn’t push.

 

***

 

He blinked his eyes open, not having realised he’d fallen asleep to begin with. As the blurry world came to vision again, he snapped up, glancing wildly around. The fire was flickering, warming the house, most of the lights on now. A blanket lay draped over his form, and the storm outside seemed to have subsided. The rays of sun tried to pierce the clouds to fall on the damp earth, the dew on the ground sparkling in the evening.

 

Yuuri rubbed his face, feeling more refreshed than he had for a long time. He hadn’t taken a nap in the day for years, despite many advising him so. He always neglected sleep when it came to the time of the Flower Festival. His work always came first, because time was limited. He never realised how stressed or tired he was until he snapped.

 

Flashes of what had happened before he fell asleep crossed his mind. With a gasp, he began to look around. He was alone on the sofa, but he heard some movement from the kitchen. A glance confirmed it.

 

Viktor stood in the open kitchen, bowed over the table and reading a cooking book. The counter tops were lined with bowls and trays, splatters of food decorating the empty spaces. Some unknown sludge clung to Viktor’s face and hair, what looked like flour caught in his eyelashes.

 

Yuuri stood and asked, “Viktor? What are you doing?”

 

Like a child caught doing something wrong again, Viktor snapped up, his blue eyes wide. His hand reached to rub the back of his neck. “Well, I wanted to thank you. And I know you like food, so I wanted to make you something.” He paused, his eyes glancing around the mess that surrounded him. “I found out I can’t cook.”

 

Yuuri began to chuckle. “What were you even trying to make?”

 

Viktor looked back towards the book, narrowing his eyes as he tried to read it. “K-Kat… Katsu. Don?”

 

“Katsudon?” At Viktor nod, Yuuri’s laugh began to rise. “Viktor, we don’t even have all the ingredients. And that cookery book is in Japanese.”

 

Viktor reached for the phone that lay at the bottom of his pockets, and as he displayed it, Yuuri saw that it was his own. “I was using translate to get the gist of it.”

 

“You know how to work the internet and phones?”

 

Viktor paused again. “I also found out that I don’t know that either.”

 

Yuuri rounded the kitchen island to get a better view of the slops on the countertops. Now that he knew what it was Viktor was trying to make, the unidentifiable mounts of what vaguely looked to be food made him want to laugh harder. But he killed it before it could rise from his throat, not wanting Viktor to think he was laughing at his hard work. “You know,” he began, wiping a smudge of food from Viktor’s cheek. “Katsudon is actually my favourite food.”

 

“So had I actually been able to make it, it would have been a good choice.”

 

“A very good choice. I’ll teach you how to make it sometime.”

 

“Not now?”

 

Yuuri took another glance around his kitchen. “Maybe after we clean all this up.”

 

“I didn’t know cooking could be so messy.”

 

“Then you don’t know cooking.” As they set cleaning up what they could, Yuuri felt something in his chest warm. Viktor’s voice repeated in his head, replaying over and over, reminding him that this had all been for Yuuri. It might not have gone well, but it made his heart beat faster until the blood rushed through his head. No one but his parents had ever really cooked for him before. And Viktor, someone who didn’t even know how to, had tried it for him. It brought a permanent smile to his lips until his cheeks ached with it.

 

When the countertops were sparkling and clear again, they began to cook dinner. Viktor was eager to help, and Yuuri was compelled to let him.

 

He hadn’t had Katsudon in a long time. His mother had last made it for him some years ago when the stress of work got to him and he collapsed on a visit to the bath house. It had been made for comfort food and to build the energy he had lost.

 

As they cooked, Yuuri kept seeing Viktor’s short hair in the corner of his eye. Every time it caught him by surprise, having grown used to his long locks by now. But as he grew used to this one, he found he really liked it. As Viktor turned away, it gave a perfect view of the nape of his neck, the back of his ears, exposing more pale skin. It drew more attention to the lines of his jaw, the blue of his eyes. He was still beautiful, and perhaps one day Viktor would be able to hear that word without recalling painfully what it had meant to him once. But handsome become another word to describe the man.

 

The kitchen was a mess again once they had finished. Perhaps it was because of an impromptu food fight, or perhaps it was because of the slip Yuuri had taken on the way to taking the food to the oven. Either way, it would need cleaning again, and Yuuri this time too had food clinging to his hair and his face.

 

“It’ll take a little while to cook,” Yuuri informed, beginning to clean the countertops once again. Normally, when cleaning anything in his house, he’d have his laptop blasting music to make the time speed by. But that was when his fingers weren’t covered in food.

 

Viktor nodded, a permanent smile on his lips too, his cheeks colouring. He looked so different from how he had been this morning, Yuuri thought. He no longer looked like a man filled with pain, one that hated what he was, enough to destroy a piece of his image. If there was anything that Yuuri had learned about the man, it was that he was strong. To be knocked down, he would stand again.

 

“While it cooks, I need to get some crowns finished,” Yuuri said hesitantly, wondering if the mere mention of flowers right now was a bad idea. He might have been a perfectionist and, as people liked to tease sometimes, a workaholic, but he would push it aside and deal with some angry customers if Viktor needed him.

 

But Viktor surprised him. He opened his mouth, gave one gasp of pause, before he asked, “Can I help?”

 

Yuuri couldn’t explain the feeling he received from that. It burned in his chest and made his smile ache. “Of course, I’ll get one so we can finish it up in here and keep an eye on the food.”

 

Which one to choose? He thought as he rushed to his study. Three crowns lay unfinished on his table, one a little too complicated for a new beginner like Viktor. So he reached for a simple one.

 

It was already half done, and would only take an hour or little more to finish. He grabbed the bouquet of roses and brought them into the living room. Viktor was already sitting on the sofa, his smile still in place.

 

He sat beside Viktor. “This one is pretty easy,” Yuuri said. “It’s for a teenage girl, and she’s only asked for red and purple roses. No thorns, no filling, so it’s the simplest one I have right now.”

 

“Why only roses?” Viktor asked, his eyebrows furrowing as if he couldn’t understand the concept.

 

Yuuri shrugged. “Roses are a very popular flower.”

 

“Then orange roses would best be for a teenage girl.”

 

“Maybe red and purple are her favourite colours.”

 

As the food cooked, they began to work on the crown. Yuuri taught Viktor the proper way to weave them into frame, to stick so that they wouldn’t fall out, and give them shape. Viktor was much more adept at crown making than cooking, something Yuuri told the man with a smile.

 

“Don’t speak too quickly now, you said yourself this is a simple one,” Viktor replied.

 

“Everyone starts somewhere.”

 

“Are we sure we can’t slip in an orange rose somewhere?” Viktor asked, conjuring one from his hands.

 

Before he could slip it in, Yuuri took the flower from his hands. As he felt it on his skin, careful of the thorns, a thought occurred to Yuuri. Curiosity laced his mind, but he was hesitant in asking. Speaking to Viktor of flowers after such an ordeal was one thing, but to ask the man this question would be another. He wasn’t sure he wanted to take the step.

 

“Yuuri?”

 

Yuuri continued to pause, but looked up at Viktor with the question on his lips. Before he could stop it, Yuuri asked. “Are there specific flowers you’re made of, or is it a bit of all of them?” He flinched at his own question.

 

But Viktor didn’t seem to mind. He opened his palms and out came a bouquet, all of different colours and variety. With his trained eye, Yuuri could label them all, and his eyes widened in awe. “I can be made of anything, but our kind has seven flowers that are our primary core. I am made primarily of amaryllis, anemone, daisies, orange roses, gardenias, asters and daffodils.”

 

Yuuri reached for them, feeling their petals, the colour drawing his eye. It was no wonder Viktor was so striking, his flowers were beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous. Handsome. All the words he could think of would not be enough to properly describe it.

 

“They’re perfect,” he said, turning his gaze to Viktor. He realised then how close they were, how much he leaned over, how their noses almost touched when Viktor turned to him.

 

This close, Yuuri could see how fine and long Viktor’s eyelashes were. He had light green specs in his eyes, and his irises seemed to be endless, pupils blown. He had some lines beside his eyes, crinkles on the sides, his pale skin dotted with what seemed like old freckles. His silver hair seemed softer this close, and he felt a desire to run his hands through it. His lips were full and pale, slightly open as Viktor breathed, his cheeks flushed.

 

Yuuri’s mind blanked. His heart raced. Time seemed to become something unimportant. Outside was nothing, the world around them fading away. He wasn’t sure what compelled him to do it. He just thought it was a good idea.

 

He leaned slowly forward and pressed his lips to Viktor’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Thank you all for reading and please let me know what you think. 
> 
> You can find me on my tumblr 
> 
> [here](https://lanaberryrawr.tumblr.com/)


	5. Bouvardia Double

Yuuri never remembered his heart beating so fast before. The blood rushed through his head, his ears unable to hear anything else. His breathing stopped. Time came back to a crawl.

 

The lips against his were soft, warm, unlike anything Yuuri had ever felt. He’d kissed people before. In a small town like this, sometimes there were other ways that teenagers occupied their times during the long winter months, or perhaps during tourist season when strangers rolled in. But none of those kisses ever felt like this, as if he could stay like this forever.

 

His mind was slow to jump in. He couldn’t understand what made him notice reality again, Viktor didn’t pull away, but it all came crashing back. He daren’t open his eyes, not wanting to see Viktor’s face. This was taking advantage of the other man, wasn’t it? Viktor needed his help, not something confusing like this.

 

Because he didn’t understand it either. He didn’t know why he was doing this, just knew it wasn’t the right time. He’d just leaned forwards. He’d just pressed their lips together without a second thought. What did it mean? Why had he done it?

 

He pulled back and kept his glance down, unsure what to say. A conflict of emotions ran through him as he found himself wishing he could do it again. He fiddled with his fingers, opening his mouth to say something. Normally, his anxious mind would provide something, even if it was nonsense. But this time it was silent, nothing coming to mind. What could Viktor be thinking now?

 

Don’t speak about it, said a voice in his mind. Avoid it, avoid confusing feelings until you know, it reminded him. He stood, still unable to look at Viktor, and said, “I’ll go check on food. Maybe it’ll be done by now.”

 

It wasn’t. But he waited awkwardly beside the oven, aware that Viktor’s gaze was boring into his back. He gulped away his nerves and tried to avoid what he had just done. It couldn’t mean anything. Viktor was feeling vulnerable, and sometimes Yuuri empathised so deeply with someone that he feels the same. Viktor had wanted comfort. For some reason, his mind thought a kiss would be a good way to go.

 

It was a little while later, trapped in silence, that the oven dinged to signal its finish. Yuuri took the food out, eager for the distraction, and placed it on the dining table. It was mostly disused, because while Yuuri lived alone he took the food to his study most of the time. With Viktor here, perhaps eating together would be nice.

 

Viktor moved to sit on the opposite side of Yuuri, and Yuuri placed the bowls in front of them. The familiar smell of his favourite meal distracted him some, and he looked down at the sight with a small, soft smile on his face. Memories of his childhood filtered through his mind, tightening his chest. He would need to tell his mother he’d made katsudon for himself. She would be proud.

 

“It’s delicious!” Viktor announced, his booming voice shooting through the quiet air.

 

When Yuuri looked up, he saw Viktor’s eyes alight with happiness, bits of rice stuck to the corner of his mouth. He delved into the food as if it was his first meal in a while, and Yuuri thought of the question of if someone like Viktor ate normally at all. Did they have any need to? Or did they photosynthesise? As the thought occurred to him, Yuuri covered his mouth to stop the laughter that bubbled up.

 

“You like it?” he asked instead.

 

Viktor nodded eagerly. “I know why it’s your favourite.”

 

“I’m not able to have it often. If I had it nearly as much as I wanted to, I would be the size of a house.”

 

Viktor stuffed his mouth and asked, “When was the last time you had it?”

 

“A few years ago.”  


“I’ll have to make it more for you.”

 

Yuuri smiled again, looking down and taking another bite. The thought of that warmed his chest and cheeks. They ate in silence for the rest of the meal, which Yuuri thought would be awkward but quite the opposite. He listened to Viktor’s hums as he enjoyed the food, gobbling it up in a faster record than even Yuuri could accomplish.

 

Once finished, he took the bowls away and left them beside the sink to wash. Normally, he’d clean them right away, but he’d done too much of that today. The dark evening sneaked in outside, and he wanted nothing more than to sit and watch some television while he finished some of the crowns by tomorrow. To not think of anything but his work, drown himself in it.

 

So that was what he did. The glow of the television illuminated the small room, his bouquets of flowers surrounding him. Beside him, Viktor sat, watching the television as if it was something new to him. His gaze grazed over it with interest, occasionally asking Yuuri questions about the programme that they were watching.

 

No one spoke about the kiss. Yuuri didn’t try to occupy his thoughts with what Viktor might have been thinking. Perhaps he didn’t think anything of it. He shook his head and thought only of the roses he was weaving. Nothing at this moment mattered – at least, that was what he tried to convince himself.

 

Just the ins and outs of weaving, of cutting thorns, tidying the structures, the metal of the pipes. Familiarity, a soothing ritual he had done for years now. He had a limited amount of time, especially as the opening of the festival was tomorrow afternoon. He might need to stay up some of the night to finish all the orders.

 

He hadn’t realised how much time had passed until the film they had been watching was done and they were halfway through the next scheduled when he looked up again. Viktor slept softly beside him, his face turned towards Yuuri, his mouth slightly open in a soft snore.

 

Yuuri felt the need to stroke his fingers over that soft cheek, but refrained.

 

***

 

It was early morning, just as the sun was rising, that Yuuri finally managed to get some sleep. The finished crowns sat beside him, perfect in their form. He contemplated moving to the bed, but fell asleep on the sofa by Viktor.

 

Viktor’s upset the day before must have tired him out, because Yuuri was the first to wake up still, to a Viktor that was almost slipping off and onto the floor. Yuuri would have liked nothing more than to join him, grab a few more minutes of sleep, but deliveries had to be made, happy customers to receive what they had paid for.

 

He left a note for Viktor to wake up to, telling him where he was and that he’d be back for lunch before the opening of the festival. He worried over where to leave it for a second, but placed it on the sofa where he had been sat. Hopefully Viktor saw it, but Yuuri didn’t have time to worry any longer on it.

 

He rushed to place his coat on, the day still a little dark but with the promise of sun for the afternoon, and raced out of his house, boxes of crowns weighing down his arms. The last of his crowns belonged to tourists, having ordered them online before their own arrival in the town. Yuuri personally liked to keep in touch with the customers through the creative process, in order to make a crown that best fitted them. When it came to his trade, he wasn’t afraid to say that a specific flower of choice wouldn’t suit the customer, or that the colour scheme was off, or that it wouldn’t be possible. His trade wasn’t entirely for money, he took pride in it, and most of the time his customers accepted him making choices for it. Of course, he had some that argued against his suggestions, even some pulling out because they didn’t agree, but his crowns took up a lot of his life – he was not prepared to spend hours on a crown he didn’t take pride in.

 

The first crown he delivered was to someone who had attempted to argue over his choice. They’d asked for the thorns to be left on their roses in the crown, and normally he wouldn’t care but it was for their little boy.

 

He gave them their crowns, before he rushed to another family to deliver theirs. Though it was early morning, the town was coming alive. Locals were up and early to make sure that the last-minute preparations were done, tugging on the tarps to ensure their security, making sure the tents were level, that all of the entertainment was up and the food and drinks arrived. Tourists streamed the main streets, coffees in hand, blurry eyed.

 

Chris was opening his café early to accept the tired locals and the eager tourists. As Yuuri passed, he felt pride swell in his chest as he saw the crown he had made atop of Chris’ head. Phichit was checking things off his list in the main square, his crown donned as well. As the town became busier, he began to notice all of his creations coming out, ready for the opening festival.

 

He’d never get used to it, year after year. His creations, something he had made by his hands, were being bought and used, and not just one or two. He grinned and hid it behind the last box, his cheeks colouring.

 

The last box was for a tourist who had come alone, travelling from the other side of the earth to be able to see the festival. Once the crown had been delivered, Yuuri allowed himself one quick coffee from Chris’ to take.

 

As he waited in line, he wondered if he should get one for Viktor on his way back too. Did Viktor drink? He ate last night, and he drank tea. But what coffee to get? Yuuri looked over the board. He’d been getting his regular for years he barely even glanced at the board anymore, and the amount there made his head spin. What were all of these names? What would Viktor like? Something sweet or bitter?

 

“Yuuri?”

 

Yuuri snapped his gaze down, seeing Chris leaning on his counter as he smirked, pointing to the space where the line had disappeared.

 

Yuuri stepped forwards quickly, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh, morning, Chris.”

 

“Morning, Yuuri. Not really with it today?”

 

He shook his head. “I was up late and woke early.”

 

“Again?”  


“Now that the crowns have been done though and the festival today, I shouldn’t be getting orders. I’ll get back into routine.” He glanced at the board again, and rushed to a decision. “Can I have two of my regulars?”

 

Chris’ eyebrows shot up, “Two? Phichit doesn’t like your-”

 

Yuuri glanced away from Chris’ prying eyes, though he knew his expression was an open book. “It’s not for Phichit.”

 

Chris was silent for a second, and Yuuri could see him frozen from the corner of his eye for a second, gauging the situation. Then, without a word, he turned to make Yuuri’s drink. Yuuri’s heart was hammering in his chest, steeling his resolve. It was just a drink for Viktor, he thought, nothing else. But he knew rumours, and soon the locals would be trying to figure out who it was he had given a coffee to.

 

“Here you go, two of your regulars,” Chris said, breaking his thought process. The steaming to-go cups were placed before him. As Yuuri took them and moved to turn, Chris gave him a wink before moving onto the customer behind him.

 

Yuuri hoped he turned in time to hide the red blush that seeped down his neck.

 

Viktor was up and making what looked like sandwiches when Yuuri arrived. “Morning,” he excitedly welcomed.

 

Yuuri closed the door and placed Viktor’s coffee on the counter before him, glancing at the clock. “Only just, it’s nearly noon. You can make sandwiches?”

 

Viktor pointed to one of the cooking books beside him. On the page, a picture of a picnic was displayed, with a buffet mix on the tartan blanket.

 

“It says they’re good for lunch,” Viktor finished.

 

Yuuri hid his mouth with a well-placed hand, and coughed away the laughter that bubbled up. Viktor was watching his own movements carefully, trying to spread the butter out evenly, knife shaking in his hand.

 

“You only had jam,” Viktor explained when he began to spread some from the jar. “They had ham in the photos.”

 

Yuuri shrugged and leaned against the counter, watching with a smile, “Jam is fine.”  


It took a little longer for Viktor to finish, giving as much care to the preparation of sandwiches as doctors did for an operation. Yuuri watched patiently, ignoring the light rumbling of his stomach, with a smile of his face. Making dinner with Viktor the evening before had made him light and giddy, but seeing Viktor attempting lunch by himself made his chest want to burst. He didn’t give much thought to it, only took bites of the sandwich when it came to finally eating it.

 

It was simple, nothing special, and usually Yuuri wasn’t keen on having jam with butter in his sandwiches, but there was something about it that appealed to him. He took full bites of the bread, feeling it soften under his teeth, and chewed with a sigh and a smile. He could feel Viktor watching, eyes roaming over his face.

 

“How is it?” Viktor asked hesitantly.

 

As Yuuri looked over at Viktor’s face, he saw a vulnerable expression there, and knew that his answer was of great importance to the man. He didn’t understand it, didn’t really know how much it meant to Viktor. To Yuuri, it was lunch. To Viktor, it was one of the first human things he had done in his life. Yuuri wouldn’t understand that, but he knew how to be kind.

 

“It’s delicious, Viktor, thank you,” he replied, taking another bite. A few more, and it would all be done. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Viktor gave a small grin, finally biting into his own. No, he wouldn’t understand how much it meant to Viktor, but that didn’t mean he didn’t understand how important his answer was.

 

They ate in silence for a while, and a thought occurred to Yuuri. He wasn’t sure how to broach it, whether Viktor was ready to hear it. But he was strapped for time, as he always seemed to be this time of year. In little under an hour, he needed to be out and involved with the official opening to the Flower Festival.

 

Once he finished the meal, Yuuri thanked Viktor again for it. Then, with little hesitation, jumped into the topic. “The Flower Festival starts in a little while. I have to be out to make sure it runs smoothly. If you want to, you could come with me?” Viktor had shown some interest in it before, but maybe the day before had changed that.

 

He didn’t miss the way Viktor’s hand trailed to the nape of his neck, touching the smaller strands there. He thought for a moment, and Viktor’s mind was filled with reminders of why it would hurt to go. But curiosity was one of Viktor’s strongest attributes. He gave a nod. “What do we do?”

 

Yuuri looked down at the clothes Viktor wore. They were ill-fitting, too small, and too tight or loose in the wrong places. “You need to change for it.”

 

Viktor glanced down at himself. “I thought you didn’t really have anything better than this?”

 

“For every-day, no. But for a festival? I might have something.” Immediately, Yuuri rushed to his room, throwing open his closet doors. He couldn’t remember if he had brought it with him or left it with his parents. Viktor stepped in behind him, eyeing Yuuri curiously, as the Japanese man began to throw clothes onto the bed.

 

At the very back, Yuuri found what he was looking for. He’d found his own earlier, at the front of the closet from previous festivals. The one at the back was a little big for him, and that was why he had neglected it for a little while. But dark floral patterns swirled beautifully over the material, curling around the arms and down along the sides, fit for a man like Viktor. He turned to the other man with the clothing in his arms.

 

“What’s that?” Viktor asked, reaching for it.

 

“It’s a yukata,” he explained, and upon Viktor’s head tilt, continued. “It’s Japanese clothing. It’s the only thing I have that will fit you, but it’s perfect for the festival as well.” He pointed towards the one lying on the bed. “I’m wearing one too.”

 

“I’m not sure how to wear one,” Viktor whispered, but his eyes were glued to the clothing.

 

Yuuri chuckled. “I’ll help you.”

 

He should have regretted saying it, honestly. He should have seen someone like Viktor acting on that, but it was too late. By the time he knew the consequences of his actions, Viktor had shed all his clothing and was stood in the middle of the room, in the bright noon light, naked.

 

Yuuri turned and shielded his eyes, gasping. The image burned in his mind, and no number of attempts could get rid of it. “V-Viktor, at least keep the pants on!”

 

“Was I meant to?”

 

“Viktor, pull them up!”

 

He listened as Viktor couched to pull them up again, mumbling something that Yuuri couldn’t quite hear. He announced when they were back on for Yuuri to turn back around.

 

It still left most of his body naked, but Yuuri didn’t think of that as he began to dress Viktor, or the way his hands and front would brush against Viktor’s skin every time he moved, or how warm the body was, how strong he was, how tall he was, and especially not at how well he filled the yukata. When he finished, he leaned back and admired his work, much like he would when he made a crown – or, not quite as innocently, but that was for his mind only.

 

“It looks so good,” he said, trying to sound calm but flinched when the admiration sung through.

 

Viktor gave a gleaming smile, blushing. He looked down at the clothing and said, “It’s really comfortable. And yours?”

 

“I’ll change into it now.” He quickly rushed to the bathroom and locked himself in, not quite as eager to show off his body was Viktor was. His parents would be wearing the same clothing, he thought as he changed. They were the only Japanese family in the diverse town, and his parents had instilled that pride in him since they had moved here. Every festival, they donned their traditional clothing, much to the delight of the tourists and locals alike. It was one of the rare times in the year Yuuri could, and the familiar pride he felt swell as he slipped into the yukata made his heart sour.

 

It was then he wondered what his parents would think when they saw Viktor in one of his. The thought made him pause. Phichit knew about Viktor, but would be surprised to see it too. And Chris. His family. He cupped his cheeks, felt the burning of his cheeks against his palms. Oh god there would be rumours. There already were, probably, from when Viktor walked the main square. Now he was wearing Yuuri’s clothes.

 

He took a moment to compose himself. It didn’t matter, he reminded himself as he took deep breaths. Viktor wanted to see the Flower Festival, and Yuuri wasn’t going to stop him because he couldn’t handle some rumours.

 

Viktor was playing with his favourites of Yuuri’s creations, the flower crown he had worn several times now. He glanced up and set it back when Yuuri walked in.

 

“Come here, Viktor,” Yuuri called, reaching for the crown he had put down. “Everyone wears one of these to the festival. It’s why I make them, why I’m so busy during this time of year.” As Viktor stood before him, Yuuri leaned forwards and placed it atop the taller man’s head. Over his shorter locks, it framed his face nicely, drawing attention to the sharp lines of his jaw, to the blue of his eyes. “It compliments your yukata.”

 

“Do you have one?” Viktor asked.

 

Yuuri’s gaze glanced over to a box in his wardrobe, a little dented now with age, in which a crown he had made years ago sat. He used to want to make a new one each festival for himself, but in addition to never having the time, he’d fallen in love with the one he first made for the occasion. A red crown, varying in shades, made of fake red lilies and roses, filled with green brush, hints of lavender, and a base of daffodils. Phichit had ones said that it was a crown made of fire, bright and burning and beautiful. Against the blue of Viktor’s, they made quite a pair.

 

Before he could think too much about that last thought, Viktor reached for the box Yuuri had been looking at and carefully took the crown from it. With a gentle touch, he placed it atop Yuuri’s head, all the while smiling down at him.

 

“Gorgeous.”

 

Yuuri might as well have a permanent blush on his cheeks when it came to Viktor. “Thank you.” Before he could stop himself, he reached for Viktor’s hand and took him back into the living room. “I have sandals to go with the outfit. And then let’s go.”

 

***

 

The town was always beautiful, a result of hard work by the locals. But the Flower Festival truly brought the town to life.

 

As afternoon settled in, the fairy lights lining the houses and lamp posts came shone brightly in a rainbow of colours. Flower bushes were flickering with strobes, stands donned in flashing signs, and pathways made of red carpet as if they walked their own movie runways. It wasn’t a rule for people to wear colour, but each year, locals and tourists alike brought their most outrageous colour schemes to compliment the bright flower crowns on their heads. Chatter rose above them as adults conversed and enjoyed the low strumming music that filtered through the main square, the clinking of glasses as they enjoyed drinking in the tents, children laughing as they ran around the cobblestones. A smell of grilling meat snuck between the stands, a barbeque beginning in the food tent.

 

It was merely the opening, however. Once the darkness fell, as evening rolled in, the entertainment began. Bands would take to the makeshift stage in the middle of the main square, the festival games opening in the stands, magicians taking to the street corners or tents, puppet shows, a storyteller acting outs the story of Blodeuwedd. The opening was to make sure that the locals were settled in, that everything was running smoothly, and to begin the celebration.

 

Yuuri had seen it many times by now, every year, and was immune to its charms. He often wondered how tourists saw their little town, what they thought if this was the first time they saw the festival. But he couldn’t really put himself into their shoes. Not until he saw the look on Viktor’s face.

 

He stopped in the middle of the path, his wide and shining eyes roaming over the main square where a crowd gathered to witness the lights being turned on in the fountain. Come darkness, it would filter into the colours of the rainbow, and the water would change colour with it. Viktor looked like a child experiencing magic for the first time, blinking to make sure that it wasn’t a dream.

 

He sighed a, “Wow,” but Yuuri wasn’t sure he even knew what he was saying. His breathing was slow as he took in the wonder, a smile pulling at his lips.

 

“Do you like it?” Yuuri asked.

 

Viktor turned his head slowly to him, as if he didn’t want to look away from the scene. “It’s beautiful.”

 

Yuuri took a hold of his hand again, feeling the warmth of his skin and ignoring the way it made his heart race. “I’ll show you more.”

 

Yuuri took Viktor to the food stall first. The sandwich hadn’t quite filled his stomach, and he had a desire to show Viktor the pancakes that their local doctor could make. Yakov was a stern doctor, strict with his orders, but made the sweetest pancakes. He’d moved from Russia to settle in the town years before, and since had helped with the festival. Sometimes, along with his locally famous pancakes, he made some traditional Russian food as well.

 

There was always a queue at his food stall, despite his quick service, and though he acted like it was a hindrance, he came back year after year without much pushing.

 

“Ever had pancakes?” Yuuri asked, straightening the opening of Viktor’s yukata. In their rush to the tent, it seemed it had slipped some.

 

“I don’t think so.”

 

“You’re going to love them.”

 

Children ran passed with candy floss, a massive cloud of it on sticks, made in apple, bubble-gum and banana. Yuuri watched as Viktor’s gaze followed it, only to jump to someone who carried a plate of grilled beef, another with a chocolate banana. So many wonderful smells rising into the afternoon air, sweet and savoury. It made Yuuri’s stomach growl.

 

Yuuri ordered their pancakes with sugar and strawberries, knowing Viktor wouldn’t know the first thing about hat flavours there were.

 

Yakov, as he made them, flickered his eyes to Viktor. He was silent for a second, his hands working while his frown was weighing his lips. “I haven’t seen you before,” he commented, gruff voice spilling out.

 

“Oh, uh,” Viktor began, unsure on what to say. His eyes flickered to Yuuri for a second. “I’m a friend of Yuuri’s, coming to visit. My name is Viktor Nikiforov.”

 

Yakov paused for a second, eyebrow raised. “A Russian name. Where are you from?”

 

“St Petersburg.”

 

Yuuri’s gaze snapped to the man. Questions circled his head as he watched them converse, his heart hammering. He hadn’t paid much attention to the orientation of Viktor’s name, but now that Yakov had pointed it out, it made sense. He’d just assumed that Viktor had been born – however people like him were born – and lived here forever. Yakov passed the wrapped pancakes into his hands, wishing them a fun festival with the most monotone Yuuri had heard him before, and began to take the order of the family behind them.

 

Yuuri rushed them to the picnic spot set outside of the tent, where multiple brown bench tables had been built. They sat opposite one another, and he handed Viktor his. “I wasn’t sure which you’d like, so I just ordered two of my usual.”

 

Viktor took his first bite and smiled up at him. “You have the best recommendations.”

 

Yuuri smiled and took his own bite, but the questions still swum around in his head. With hesitancy, he decided to ask. “You’re from Russia?”

 

“Originally, yes,” Viktor replied, and from his lack of reaction, Yuuri guessed it wasn’t a painful subject. “Our kind are from all over the world. But we always feel some connection to this place – Maybe it has something to do with Blodeuwedd, her being the first of us. We always find our way here, but there’s so little of us that we hardly ever cross paths.”

 

“Oh.” The first? There were so many things he didn’t understand. Learning more about Viktor made his head hurt. He felt Viktor press a touch to his arm, still eating his pancake with the other. He smiled back at the man. It was funny, he thought, how just a single touch from Viktor could calm him. He wanted to ask more, but Viktor beat him to it with a question.

 

“What do we do after this?” Viktor asked around a mouthful of food. As he titled to take another bite, his crown slipped. He quickly pushed it back in place.

 

So human, Yuuri thought. “We could try some of art stalls while they’re open,” Yuuri suggested. As a local, most of the festivals was spent making sure that the tourists were enjoying themselves and that all their preparations weren’t breaking down. Now, with Viktor here, he felt compelled to show him everything as a tourist would enjoy it. It brought back fond childhood memories as he ran through the stalls, peeking over the counters to spot the beautiful crafts of the locals, watching the older kids play the games, egging Mari to get him a stuffed bear he had his eyes on.

 

“Yuuri!”

 

Yuuri stilled, his heart stopping. He glanced quickly at Viktor, seeing him still enjoying the food, before he turned to see Chris making his way towards them. He hadn’t noticed Viktor just yet, but it wasn’t long.

 

Yuuri knew the exact moment he did. Chris’ smile slipped for a second, his eyes trailing over Viktor’s attire, his crown – both of which Chris was familiar with. He paused in his steps for a second. Yuuri knew the exact moment he came up with his own explanation as well. Chris’ smirk rose quickly, his eyes narrowing, one eyebrow rising as he titled his head at Yuuri.

 

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked as he stopped beside their table.

 

“Uh, Chris, this is Viktor. Viktor, this is Chris,” he introduced, fidgeting with his fingers. “He’s a friend visiting.”

 

Chris didn’t believe it. “Yuuri’s yukata looks very fitting on you, Viktor. And I can’t ever recall Yuuri pulling that crown out for a few years now.”

 

Viktor took the last bite of his pancake before he smiled up at Chris. “He’s been a very hospitable host.”

 

No, that’s the worst thing to say, Yuuri groaned in his own head. He saw the fire it lit in Chris’ eyes and he knew the man would be asking Phichit all about it later. And Phichit, gossip-loving Phichit, would love to tell his part of the story, embellishing some of the points of course. Hopefully keeping out one of the… major aspects of Viktor’s character.

 

Chris took that moment to sit beside Viktor, placing his chin in his hand and gaze scanning over his features. “So his spare coffee was for you.”

 

Viktor nodded, giving a bright smile. “Yes, we had it with lunch. It was very nice.”

 

“Oh, I am glad to hear.”

 

At Viktor’s confusion, Yuuri explained, “Chris made them. He owns the best café in town.”

 

Chris gripped his chest. “The compliment. Thank you.” He turned his gaze to Yuuri, a raised eyebrow and a bigger smirk. “Finally decided to take your caged man out for a bit?”

 

Yuuri tried to ignore it, but the teasing brought a flush that spread down his neck, and he knew it probably reached his chest. He glanced away from Chris’ gaze. “He wanted to see the festival.”

 

“Oh? And how are you liking it, Viktor?”

 

Viktor glanced around again, his gaze lingering on the strobe lights hanging like bunting, the little girl that ran by with the floral dress, the little boy that had flowers painted onto his face and shoulders. “It’s amazing,” he said, and Yuuri could clearly hear the awe in his voice. “The atmosphere is so much more comforting than I expected.”

 

If Chris thought something odd with Viktor’s wording, he didn’t say anything. “This town prides itself on this festival. We try to make it better than the year before.” He opened his mouth to say more, but a call of his name stopped it. He glanced around to find his boyfriend waving at him and pointing towards their drink stall. “Ah, I must be off. We have customers.” He took Viktor’s hand in his and shook it. “It was nice to meet you, Viktor. I’d like to speak to you again before you leave. Or, you know, you could always stay here forever. I’m sure Yuuri would like that,” he added, throwing a wink Yuuri’s way.

 

Before Yuuri could shout anything back, say how it was a misunderstanding, Chris turned and left, slinking between the bodies of the crowd with a sway of his hips. He was gone before Yuuri could even blink.

 

“He was nice,” Viktor chuckled.

 

“Have you finished your pancake?” Yuuri asked, and Viktor nodded, holding out his empty hands. “I’ll show you more of the place. Best to keep moving, before someone else I know finds and teases us.” In a town filled with people he knew, it was going to be hard.

 

***

 

They killed some time waiting for the darkness to descend. Viktor spent hours through the stalls, eyeing up all the merchandise and the crafts, all very heavily influenced by the myth. None captured his eye quite as well as Mrs Jones’ figures had. But he filtered through them all, picking each drawing carefully, eyeing the paintings, scanning the poetry, touched the clay models. His eyes would never stray too far, taking in every detail, touching the petals as if they were real, as if they could bow under his pressure.

 

Yuuri had seen them all before. Most of the art had been wheeled in from previous years if they had not been sold, fresh for a new crowd of tourists. For people like Viktor. Every few pieces, he would hold it out for Yuuri, exclaiming how pretty it was. Yuuri would agree.

 

As the sky darkened, the remaining lights lit up the streets. Signs flashed, music filtered through the speakers on the buildings, a band stood beside the fountain and sung to the dancing crowd. Beside the stalls, a puppet show began to play out for the crowd of little kids. A magician had his own tent, drawing in the families. The bucking bronco was set up beside the town hall, and Yurio was the first on, challenging all those around him to stay on for longer.

 

The lights drowned out the stars above, the trees reduced to shadows. For the first time, Yuuri wondered what the view looked like from the forest, what Viktor had seen for years.

 

He glanced at the man, seeing the wonder in his eyes. The fairy lights flickered in his wide eyes, and Yuuri was struck.

 

“Dancing,” Viktor whispered, barely audible over the band’s music.

 

“What?”

 

Viktor turned his gaze to Yuuri. “Dance with me?”

 

Yuuri was momentarily reminded of the myth, of how the flower woman would dance through the forest, followed by the animals that lived with her, the sun shining everywhere she stepped. Did Viktor do that? But he found himself pulled into a twirl before he could even think of asking, the world around him blurred into lines of colour, forms mixed with lights.

 

Viktor was the only think in focus. His gentle and wide smile, caught in the middle of laughter, his eyes sparkling, like crescent moons. There was a flush on his cheeks, his crown slipping to tilt on his fine head, some strands caught in the metal. His hands were warm and soft in Yuuri’s grip, their chests almost touching.

 

They didn’t so much dance as spin in the middle of the swaying crowd, sometimes speeding and sometimes slowing. Yuuri couldn’t tell if the racing of his heart was because of Viktor, or because of their movement.

 

All he knew was that he was compelled to kiss the man again. His lips looked welcoming, warm, soft breath breezing passed every time Viktor laughed. He refrained. The Flower Festival was beautiful, as was the town, the people living in it, the natural landscape around them. But nothing could ever compare to the man before him.

 

It was only for a song or two that they danced before the band was finished and there was a break before the next took to the stage. They stopped, close, staring at one another. Yuuri didn’t want to look away and it seemed Viktor didn’t either.

 

The only thing that did snap him from his staring was a familiar voice calling, “Yeah, Yuuri, work it.”

 

Phichit stood a little way from them, in between a crowd slowly parting. Before him was his phone, snapping a quick succession of photos of their position.

 

“Phichit!” he snapped, letting go of Viktor and stepping away a little.

 

His best friend made his way closer, giving an enthusiastic wave. “Viktor! Glad to see you here! Yuuri, I saw your family wandering around the drinks stall. Your father is getting into a drinking competition with Minako.”

 

Yuuri groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Oh no.”

 

“Oh yes, and from what I can see, it’s been going for a while.”

 

“He knows he’s never going to beat her.”

 

“And yet every year, he tries.”

 

“It’s embarrassing.”

 

“I think you mean entertaining.” Phichit waved his phone, a wink cast. “I have the photos. Wanna see?”

 

Before Yuuri could even reply, Phichit held the phone forwards. Yuuri and Viktor leaned over to see as the owner flicked through them. Yuuri readied himself, but wasn’t prepared. The first was bad enough, his father downing a whole cup of alcohol, whatever it was. It was unidentifiable in the stall’s plastic cup. The next had him smiling drunkenly at the camera, Minako downing another cup behind him. Then it escalated, both on the table, his father lying down to let the face painter paint on his stomach, his shirt off. Minako too had a paintbrush, painting a red line down the middle of his face. Then they were dancing, or singing, or both, Yuuri couldn’t tell. The table was upside down behind them. Yuuri’s mother was giggling with another local beside them, his sister frowning and rolling her eyes. It continued to get worse, and Yuuri pushed the phone away.

 

Viktor was laughing, Phichit joining in. A roar of laughter rose from the crowd beside the food stall, and Yuuri knew then what was happening. “He’s going to make another mess.”

 

Phichit waved the comment away. “Let him enjoy the start of the festival. He might be a bit too drunk to see the fireworks, though.”

 

Viktor snapped his head towards Yuuri, his eyes wide in wonder. “Fireworks?”

 

Phichit answered, “Yep! They should be starting in about ten minutes or so. Yuuri, best you find a good spot. Maybe somewhere dark, just for you two.”

 

“You’ve been talking to Chris.”

 

“Yep!” Phichit replied, turning on his heels to walk away. “And we both find it adorable.”

 

Yuuri sighed and gripped Viktor’s arm. “Come on, we’ll go find a spot.” Truthfully, anywhere in the town was a good spot to see the fireworks. From a clearing in the trees, the fireworks team put on the show, lighting them to fly high in the sky, officially opening the three-day long festival. They rose high above the roof tops, so anyone could stand anywhere in the town and get a good view.

 

But Yuuri knew the best place. Away from the cooing crowds, away from where the lights might kill some of the glory, to where it was only nature.

 

It only took five minutes to walk there, moving through a little-known path between the trees, behind the town hall. A small trek upwards, and then they reached a clearing. It was dark, and Yuuri used the light of his phone to show the way, Viktor following behind.

 

The clearing was small, made long ago when the trees had been felled to make way for what was going to be a cottage. The development fell through when the owner decided on a different spot. Over the years, it had crown over again some, daisies blowing in the low breeze, grass coming to their ankles.

 

Yuuri encouraged Viktor to sit. The Russian glanced around once before looking up to where the stars blinked in the night sky. They sat on the tilted ground, waiting while in the distance, the music and the chatter rose.

 

“Have you ever seen fireworks?” Yuuri asked, wondering if at any time, while he watched the fireworks from here, Viktor roamed the forest watching it from somewhere else. Like watching the same moon, seeing the same sun, looking up into the same vast sky.

 

“Not properly,” Viktor admitted, shifting so that their shoulders touched. Away from the bodies of the festival with no lights to warm them, the night air was cold. “I’d hear them previous festivals, but I stayed away because I didn’t want anyone finding me.”

 

“You’re going to love them.” If there was anything Yuuri had found out from his observations of the man, it was that he liked colour. He saw it whenever Viktor stopped to admire a piece of art – his eyes would always fall on the most colourful, and his own flowers were bright. “It’s like art in the sky.”

 

The chatter down in the town died, the music stopped. They counted, a chorus of thousands of voices showing numbers, descending from ten. Quietly, Yuuri copied after years of the same routine. He almost faltered when he heard Viktor copy beside him.

 

As soon as their voices fell on one, something whizzed from the cover of the trees. A plume of smoke rose behind in. It rose and rose until it reached its peak, centred in the night sky. There, it exploded into sparks of colour in the sky. Red against black, bright and followed by a bang of noise. Following was a green firework, exploding underneath it.

 

The night was silent save for the bangs and the light crackling as the sparks dispersed among the stars. The night was illuminated by the fire, catching in their eyes.

 

Yuuri had seem them plenty of times. He wouldn’t miss much if he looked away, so he did. He turned to see Viktor’s pale face lit with colour, eyes twinkling under the sparks. His mouth was open, eyes wide. If he was aware of Yuuri watching, he didn’t do anything.

 

Yuuri witnessed as flowers sprouted from the ground where Viktor touched, red lilies sprouting quickly, the same colour as the lights in the sky. Petals grew from his skin, brighter than the ones Yuuri had seen before, curling softly towards the sky.

 

He wondered if that meant Viktor was happy. He hoped with all his heart that it was true. He turned his gaze back to the sky, seeing the black canvas of the night painted with multiple shades. The peak of the fireworks burned and flew, a deeper scent of smoke in the air.

 

Yuuri felt Viktor cross their arms and lean his head on Yuuri’s shoulder. It made his heart jump, pulling a smile from his lips. He tilted Viktor’s crown away and rested his head on top of Viktor’s. His hair was soft against Yuuri’s cheek. The clearing grew more lilies, a rainbow of colour around them.

 

The festival had never been so beautiful before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter five, already half way, wow. This has gone by so quickly! XD
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr for updates
> 
> [here](https://lanaberryrawr.tumblr.com/)


	6. Hydrangea

It was late when they returned home, collapsing into bed as a small amount of alcohol coursed through them. Yuuri was the first to fall asleep, barely out of the yukata he had been trying to remove, nor under the covers.

 

Viktor fell beside him, lying on his back. They were far enough away that the late night crowd was silent in the night, where the lights didn’t reach, or where the stumbling drunk would wander. Outside, the trees brushed the side of the house, branches fighting, and the nocturnal animals sung in the darkness. Above the drawer, a ticking clock hung from the wall, counting the seconds with a sway of its pendulum.

 

Viktor turned his gaze towards where Yuuri lay on his front, cheek pressed into the quilt cover. His glasses were awkwardly stuck, so Viktor reached forwards and gently pulled them out and placed them on the bedside table. He glanced back at Yuuri’s exposed face, his soft eyelashes, tanned skin, thin eyelids. He had his mouth open slightly, breathing in deeply.

 

The moonlight shone directly onto Yuuri’s body, chasing away the shadows, illuminating the lines of his form. As he slipped further into sleep, Yuuri’s light snores accompanied the ticking of the clock.

 

Viktor could do this for hours. He could watch Yuuri, asleep or awake, without ever growing bored. Viktor had known what beauty was from an early age, all the connotations, the sound of it as it rolled off people’s tongues. He knew how it differed from person to person, how someone could see beauty in something that was ugly to others. He knew natural beauty, fake beauty, beauty made from factories. He’d been called beautiful more times than he could count, until the word never meant anything anymore, and then until it became something negative.

 

Handsome was not a word he understood. He’d heard others use it, seen it, knew about it, but it never applied to him. Beautiful was always thrown at him, but handsome was a word Yuuri had reserved. He knew after his explanation, after Yuuri walked in on him cutting his hair, Yuuri had been careful to call him that word. But he’d called him something else, and meant it.

 

And then instead of avoiding the word ‘beautiful’ altogether, Yuuri had shown him beauty in something other than him. He’d shown him the beauty of the town, of relationships between people, of fireworks in the night sky. Yuuri had understood, even if he didn’t know it himself.

 

Viktor couldn’t stop himself. He pressed his knuckles to Yuuri’s cheek, stroking the soft skin. His finger touched the top of Yuuri’s lip, and Viktor recoiled a little. An image of what they had done, of their kiss, etched itself into his mind. He pressed his fingers to his own lips, recalling the warmth, the shivers it had send down his spine.

 

For some reason, Yuuri hadn’t wanted to talk about it. He’d looked confused and frightened after it. Viktor wanted to ask, but was worried. Yuuri had given him space when he needed it, he wanted to provide that for the other man too. But it hurt. Yuuri hadn’t been distant, and hadn’t pulled away when he’d looped their arms the night before, but he didn’t want to talk about it. Viktor wondered if they’d stepped over a line with the action, a line he hadn’t known was there.

 

Only time could tell, and Viktor was a patient man. There wasn’t a lot to do in the forest besides walk and create flowers for their kind. Time passed at a faster pace for him than it would Yuuri. It was only after years that he became bored with his life, wanting more than to wander through the forest and not be able to interact with anything. His patience had worn thin, a desire to find a proper purpose burning into his heart.

 

And he’d found Yuuri. He’d been frightened at first, because he knew the obsession this town had for people like him. Any one of them could turn him into a tourist attraction. But he’d watched Yuuri for a while, seen the gentle soul, saw how he took great care of his flowers.

 

Yuuri had done so much for him, so much that the Japanese man would never be able to understand. But it had only been a few days, and already Viktor was feeling happier than he ever had in his lifetime.

 

He wanted to give something back. Yuuri had taken him into his world, and Viktor wanted to take Yuuri into his.

 

The idea brought a smile to his lips, something he seemed to be doing a lot when it came to Yuuri.

 

Beside him, Yuuri mumbled in his sleep and rubbed his cheek against the covers before he settled back to sleep. It looked like a good idea, Viktor thought, feeling his eyes drooping. He should probably remove both of their clothes and bring up the covers on a cold night, but sleep claimed him before he could finish the thought.

 

***

 

Yuuri blinked open his eyes. Sunlight shone through, blinding him for a second, before he became aware of a huff of breath on his face. As the world came to vision, he saw Viktor’s face only inches away, drawn in sleep, soft eyelashes settled on his pale cheeks.

 

He became painfully aware of how they were still dressed in their festival clothing, his own crown on the floor, Viktor’s caught underneath his arm. Chills settled in bumps on his arms, and his feet ached from all of the walking the night before. His stomach growled.

 

He groaned and began to sit up. He hadn’t drunk nearly enough to get a hangover, only until his world blurred a little. A very different story to how his father would be waking up, Yuuri bet. He glanced at the clock. It was nearing noon, the latest he had woken up for a long time. Without the need to make crowns and finish orders, early mornings were no longer a necessity. He could almost slink back into bed at the thought.

But he left the bed, going quietly to not wake up Viktor, and retreated to the kitchen to make himself some morning coffee.

 

The festival would still be going on in the centre of town, he thought. He didn’t own any stalls, so he had no obligation to be there, not unless Viktor wanted to see more. It was the second day that they brought out the open-air cinema, or the bouncy castle to entertain children and families. Perhaps if Viktor wanted to see a film, he’d take him to see it.

 

Gradually, his body woke up as he sipped at the black coffee. He could feel the energy inside of him buzz. His eyes could blink without being weighed down. It was a little while later that he heard some movement from his bedroom.

 

Viktor stumbled into the living room, the yukata off, dressed only in some of Yuuri’s spare boxers, rubbing his face and blinking away the sleep. His right cheek was red from where he had been resting on it, and his fringe was splaying in ways that defied gravity. He mumbled something, but Yuuri couldn’t catch it.

 

“Morning,” Yuuri greeted, ignoring that it was closer to noon.

 

Viktor nodded his head, mumbling something again. He yawned, rubbed his face again and came to sit on one of the bar stools beside the counter. He dropped, posture bent, staring at the counter.

 

“Still not fully awake?” Yuuri asked, to which he received a grunt. He couldn’t help but laugh, knowing that he himself was a bad morning person. He quickly made Viktor a coffee, slightly more bitter than the one he had received from Chris’ café the day before, and Viktor gulped a mouthful down almost as soon as Yuuri’s set it on the table before him.

 

It was only a few minutes that Viktor started to look more awake though, having had time to adjust. He smiled up at Yuuri and finished his coffee.

 

“The festival’s still going on,” Yuuri informed. “Honestly, in my opinion, the best parts about it happen at night, and the last day. But if it’s something you want to see, we could go? They have a cinema out in the park with an inflatable screen – I don’t know what films they’re showing though.”

 

There was a pause while Viktor thought. “I have another idea, if you don’t mind?”

 

Yuuri couldn’t help but feel the excitement bubble inside of him. Viktor hadn’t suggested something to do since they had known each other, rather went along with what Yuuri had in mind. Which, of course, he didn’t mind, but sometimes Yuuri wondered if it was what Viktor wanted to do at all. “What were you thinking?”

 

“How much of the forest do you know?”

 

“I know quite a lot of it. I used to run around a lot as a kid. But I’m guessing you’re going to prove me wrong?”

 

Viktor gave him a smile and a small nod. “I want to show you some of the things you’ve never happened upon. Some are quite far out, so it’ll be a day of hiking really.”

 

Oh no, Yuuri thought. He’d tried hiking before, during the time he’d gone on a health kick to be able to lose some of the weight he had gained. It had helped, but he found himself hating hills. He’d taken up running soon after and he much preferred it. “Okay.”

 

Viktor must have seen the reluctance and said, “We don’t have to, if you don’t want?”

 

Yuuri rushed to assure the man, “No, no, it’s not that at all! I’d love to go! I’m just not very good at hiking.”

 

At that, Viktor gave him another smile. “It’s fine, I can help you along the way.”

 

Yuuri began to pack a small picnic for them to have on the walk, knowing that they were too late to have food here. And Viktor had told him he knew the perfect place for lunch, where they could overlook the wonders of the forest.

 

As Viktor spoke about the places he wanted Yuuri to see, keeping an edge of mystery, Yuuri found himself growing more and more keen of seeing it with his own eyes. He spoke of sparkling springs, cascading waterfalls, meadows of rare flowers overlooking valleys, thick and tall trees that had been there thousands of years, natural creations that could never be described to someone who had not seen.

 

It was early noon when they began their hike, following the trail up towards where Yuuri cut his logs – where he had first met Viktor, and the second time as well. A path created by wandering animals wove further on, into the thick foliage, before it began to fork into multiple.

 

They turned a way that Yuuri didn’t frequent, had only been down a few times in his life. It pointed away from the town, further up into the hills, to where the rural farmers owned the land. A few lost sheep sometimes roamed this way, following the scents of the town.

 

It was about a mile they walked before Viktor took a hold of his hand and led him down a stone path, overgrown after years of neglect. Far off, Yuuri could hear a stream trickling, birds sung overhead, leaves brushed against branches. There was nothing like the smell of a forest after a storm.

 

They came to an overhang of stone, just ten feet above a small river that rolled down the hill side. On one of the branches opposite, a swing hung, the once white rope now brown and grey. It swayed in the breeze.

 

“I was thinking of having lunch here?” Viktor said.

 

Yuuri could only take in the beauty of a place he hadn’t seen before, faintly nodding in answer. If it wasn’t for the swing, Yuuri might have wondered if he was the first of the town to ever happen across it. These were the paths Viktor tread alone, before they knew one another.

 

They spoke about anything and everything as they ate. Viktor’s awe of the festival the day before seeped into every conversation. He described his love for the colours, how it had felt to be amongst a crowd when normally he walked by himself. He asked questions about the people, about what they did for the rest of the year. Like a curious child, he asked everything.

 

And Yuuri was more than eager to answer it all. And in turn, he asked what Russia was like. Conversation came easy. For someone like Yuuri, who worried about long periods of silences, or what words would stumble their way from his mouth, it calmed him. Viktor was easy to talk to.

 

After their lunch, Viktor took his hand and began to guide him further into the forest, easing him over the rocks, assuring him that he wouldn’t slip and fall. The growth grew thicker here, drowning out the rays of the sun until only green seeped into the air. Leaves swayed, falling in their path, bushes shaking with birds.

 

Even as the path evened out as they walked the edge of the mountain, Yuuri didn’t let go of Viktor’s hand. It warmed his palm, the skin soft, constantly sending sparks up his nerves. Viktor didn’t pull away either.

 

As they walked by flowers, Viktor would name them, some of which Yuuri had not come across before. Rare breeds he hadn’t known where this deep into the forest, colours he couldn’t help but imagine inside crowns. But he didn’t pick, not when he saw the butterflies that fluttered around them, the bees that buzzed their work. Viktor would speak about the flowers he had seen in his time wandering, which were his favourites, and Yuuri found himself noting them inside his head.

 

After an hour of hiking, they arrived at a meadow, the grass growing high, daisies in clusters between the blades. The wind whipped by, creating waves of swaying green, flower petals caught in twirls in the air. In the middle of the meadow was a thick fallen tree, slowly decaying over the years. Hollows were carved into the bark, no doubt a home for animals.

 

As they reached the tree, Viktor turned them around, facing one another, and took Yuuri’s hands in his own with their palms facing the open blue sky.

 

“I want to show you something. Do you trust me?” he asked.

 

Yuuri found himself nodding before he had time to think about it. He hadn’t known Viktor for more than a few days, but something about the other man had Yuuri trusting him the moment he stepped into his life. “I do.”

 

“It’s going to feel weird, but just keep your hands here.” Viktor paused for a moment, waiting to see the confirmation that Yuuri understood. When Yuuri nodded again, Viktor took his hands away and plucked a white daisy petal from the wind. With careful precision, he placed it on Yuuri’s open palms, on top of the crease where they met. When he was sure that the wind would not take it again, he placed his own palms over it. “Like I said, it’s going to feel weird.”

 

Yuuri wasn’t sure what Viktor meant by that. It was a general term, and Yuuri would prefer more details. Would it tickle? Would it hurt? Whatever this was, how would it feel? But as he had said, he trusted Viktor, so he didn’t dwell on it too much.

 

But he felt a slight burn then. Nothing painful, just a heat, something swiping across the skin of his hand, something growing. If he listened closely, he could hear petals stroking against one another, or smell the scent of daisies.

 

As the burning stopped, Viktor hands moved away. Sitting perfectly in his hands was a chain of daisies, beautifully constructed like a thin version of his crows, each petal in place, each yellow head bright like a sun. It was small, only big enough for a bracelet, but it took Yuuri’s breath away. He glanced up at Viktor, eyes wide and eyebrows knitted.

 

“You can’t make flowers yourself,” Viktor began to explain. “You’re not like me. But that doesn’t mean you can’t at all. With my help, you can do what I do.”

 

Yuuri looked back down. His chest squeezed. Viktor took the bracelet and gently placed it around Yuuri’s wrist, his thumb brushing against his pulse point as he went.

 

“With the right petal, I can help you make any flower.”

 

“Any flower?” Yuuri couldn’t help but compare the awe in his voice to how Viktor’s had been when talking about the festival. He wondered if his eyes looked the same, the same gleam as Viktor’s had worn last night.

 

Viktor nodded. He opened his palm, and an orange petal sprouted from the middle. He plucked it and lay it back in Yuuri’s awaiting hands. “I’ll show you this time.”

 

Yuuri’s heart beat as Viktor cupped the back of Yuuri’s hands. He willed himself to concentrate, a feat that was easy. The petal shivered in his hands, almost as if it had been taken by the wind, before it began to grow. Beneath it, it sprouted another petal, unfurling until another came, and another and another. Steadily, it grew bigger until a full orange rose was blooming in his open hands. From it came a small stem, angry brown thorns carefully avoiding his skin. The image of it made him forget about the burning as it grew.

 

“See?”

 

Yuuri was at a loss for words. From his own palm, a rose had grown. A full rose, beautifully bloomed as if it was new. He ran his thumbs over the petal, the stem, careful of the thorns, unable to believe it. It was real, and he had constructed it. “I did it?”

 

“With a little of my help, yes,” Viktor chuckled.

 

“Viktor, I…” He wasn’t sure what he was saying. His eyes could barely look away from the bracelet, the rose in his hands, the petals that flew around him.

 

Viktor took the rose from his hands, peeling off the thorns before he placed it behind Yuuri’s ear. He smiled, his eyes sparkling as Yuuri saw his own reflection in them. They were close, and he was caught. Viktor’s fingers brushed against the tip of ear, and Yuuri felt his knees buckle.

 

In the back of his mind, something dawned. A feeling, awakening, his heart attempting to burst from his chest. He could feel his mouth dry up, the pressure of their previous kiss against his lips, blood rushing. On some level, he knew what this was. But couldn’t name it. It escaped him, as if it was at the tip of his tongue, just within reach of his mind, the name there before him but unable to remember. As he got closer, Viktor made him forget.

 

He took hold of Yuuri’s hands again, placing them as they were, and plucked both daisy petals from the air and grew more petals within his own hands. Dozens, Yuuri thought, though he didn’t have time to count before they were set in a small pile in his awaiting hands.

 

The burning began again as Viktor placed his hands underneath. Rather than one, the petals curled and bloomed into a mound of flowers, brightening into multiple colours and families. Daisies, roses, lilies, orchids, lavender, poppies and everything that Yuuri could name. They sprouted and grew until his hands were no longer visible and they were falling off the edge of his grip. Like popcorn, up and up they went, never ending.

 

He felt a laugh bubble its way from his lungs. This was not how he thought his day was going to go. In fact, it was not how he thought any part of his life was ever going to go. He looked up into Viktor’s face, seeing the grin he sported as he continued to make the flowers grow. And Yuuri found he never wanted to live any other way.

 

Once Viktor had stopped their growing, Yuuri sat on the thick tree and began to weave them into a crown – it was a little harder without his metal frames, a little lopsided in parts and the need to be gentle so that nothing came out of place. But once finished, the waves of colour greeted him. All flowers, shapes and sizes, mixed into a rainbow.

 

He placed it on Viktor’s head and said, “A return for the bracelet.”

 

Viktor tilted his head, holding the crowd to stop it from slipping, and smiled brightly down at Yuuri. “What you can create with your hands never fails to amaze me.”

 

Yuuri blushed deeply, finding the image before him breath-taking. Viktor was cast in a halo of burning rays, the sun hanging overhead, flower crown framing his head perfectly. His hair gently danced in the breeze, his cheeks slightly flush, eyes sparkling and barely ever looking away from Yuuri. His smile would always be one of the most handsome things Yuuri could ever think of, already knew that it would brighten his day if he was ever feeling down. Everything about Viktor was as if he had his own shining sun.

 

But as time was beginning to wear away, the sun dipping over the high trees, hours having passed since they trekked away from the house, they became aware that they needed to move.

 

Viktor took Yuuri’s hand and said, “I have another place I want to show you. It’s my favourite out of all of them.”

 

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile so widely until his blushing cheeks ached. He gripped Viktor’s hold tighter and allowed him to lead – momentarily, he thought how he wouldn’t mind following Viktor anywhere.

 

The forest was darker when they walked back into it, the sun hours from setting but not as high to reach through the growth. They continued on for a while, taking sips of their water as they went, and Viktor promised Yuuri would love this place more than anywhere.

 

It was an hour and a bit before they reached it. The trees were darker, birds beginning to settle into bed, nocturnal animals just waking up.

 

Yuuri heard a stream, louder than the one they had lunch at, bigger. It seeped through the forest, bringing with it the smell of wet grass and flowers. They carefully hiked down into a dip in the mountainside, following natural stone paths worn by age.

 

A large pool of water waited for them, a waterfall about twenty feet high above. A sparkling spring under the cover of trees, the rays of sun bouncing off the surface from a small gap in the leaves above. Large rocks rested beside the pool, moss growing over the tops, flowers blooming around the edges and along the stones beside the waterfall. Birds rested on the overhanging branches, singing louder as Yuuri and Viktor walked through into the small clearing.

 

Yuuri was struck immediately. His mouth hung open, his eyes taking in every little aspect. The sound of running water echoed in his ears. It shimmered, the pool inviting. A lost paradise.

 

“There’s a small sitting space behind the water fall as well,” Viktor informed. “Like a cave. I sit there sometimes, for hours.”

 

“Viktor, this is beautiful,” Yuuri said, knowing that the word wasn’t strong enough. Much like it couldn’t describe Viktor perfectly, it could never compare to this place.

 

“Come swim with me?” Viktor asked.

 

Yuuri didn’t need to stop and think. He felt compelled to jump into the pool, to bathe away the sweat from hiking. As he stood on the edge, his toes dipping just over the stone edges, he gently placed his flower bracelet and crown on the smooth rock besides the body of water, bags dropped carelessly.  

 

They hadn’t brought anything to wear to swim, but that didn’t matter. He removed his clothes until he was only in his boxers, seeing that Viktor was doing the same. “Is it deep enough to jump into?”

 

In answer, Viktor gave a smirk, grabbed Yuuri with both hands, and jumped in.

 

He felt the cool water crash against his form, his whole body submerged. Bubble raced passed his skin, the pressure welcoming, and his toes never touching the bottom. As he looked up, he saw the setting light shimmer in rays around them, most caught on the surface, waving like a mirage. Below, the shadows took hold, showing tiny fragments of the bottom, little fish dashing away. Their scales glittered.

 

Yuuri swam back up, taking a deep gulp of air as his soaked hair sprayed droplets. Viktor pierced the surface besides him. His silver fringe clung to the side of his cheek and his eyes glittered like the scales of the fish, face rosy and grin bright.

 

Yuuri couldn’t help but grin back at him, feeling his chest lighten, his heart hammer. The sky above brushed bright, yellows and reds amongst gold as the sun set. It peeked through the branches of the trees, falling onto them.

 

Yuuri didn’t need any evidence to know this place was magical – maybe not in the sense that Viktor was, but the feeling of it, the atmosphere. He could get lost here, pretend time meant nothing, stay for the rest of his life and never look back. He’d heard of such places described in books before, seen pictures on the internet, heard about them. But nothing had ever struck him like this place.

 

“Do you like it?” Viktor asked again.

 

Yuuri nodded enthusiastically. “I never want to leave,” he admitted.

 

Viktor gave a brighter smile, showing his teeth. This was a special place to him, and though he knew Yuuri loved it by the expression on his face, he wanted the confirmation. Because this place saved him many times when he thought his choice to come to the town had been a mistake. He’d been nervous showing it to Yuuri, but knew now that there was no need to be.

 

Viktor relaxed until he was lying on his back, facing the gap in the trees, allowing the water to carry him. Besides him, Yuuri was running the water through his hair, getting rid of the grime and the sweat that hiking brought. After that, he began to wipe down his arms and stomach, armpits, making sure it was all gone.

 

“How many know of this place?” Yuuri asked.

 

Viktor took his time to think. “With people, I’ve only ever seen one hiker come across it. Otherwise, I don’t think people know. Animals though, many come here every day.”

 

“What sort of animals?”

 

“Oh, foxes, deer, rabbits, squirrels, birds, hedgehogs, badgers, and more.”

 

Yuuri had seen all those animals in his time, venturing through his gardens on their search for food. Some were too skittish and rushed away before he could give them anything, but many began to venture back when he left a pile of food for them at the edge of the forest.

 

“Do you think any are going to come here while we’re here?” he asked.

 

“It’s getting dark, some might not. But maybe foxes, or badgers. Do you want to see them?”

 

Yuuri nodded. “Yes.” He loved animals, any kind really. Phichit had three hamsters that he let Yuuri cuddle any time he wanted. He used to have a dog, but that was years ago, and had died of old age. He would love to have gotten another, but his business was taking off and he knew he didn’t have the time to look after it.

 

A splatter of water hit his face. His head snapped up, Viktor grinning. Before he had time to wonder what had happened, Viktor splashed some more water his way, creating a small wave on the surface of the pool.

 

Yuuri shielded his head, feeling the droplets crash against his arms. Viktor was chuckling, and Yuuri cast his revenge. He pushed the water, creating another wave, shaking Viktor’s form as he relaxed on the pool, almost tipping him over.

 

He couldn’t remember the last time he played in water. He used to play a lot with Mari in the river running passed the town hall years ago, when they were still children. He and Phichit used to seek refuge in the swimming pool in town when it came to a hot day, but that had been years ago as well. That had been when he didn’t have so many crowns that needed making, so little time to be able to enjoy. When he didn’t have to be so tired and serious.

 

Viktor lunged at him, throwing his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders. Yuuri expected to be submerged again, but instead stayed above. He found himself spinning, Viktor’s warmth gone, but their hands still joined. He stopped, and Viktor pulled him closer again.

 

He made Yuuri spin again, the water like a whirlpool around his body. He couldn’t help but chuckle, finding his breath when he stopped to ask, “Are you making me dance in the water?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

Yuuri continued to laugh harder as Viktor spun him over and over again, giving him time to breathe, bringing him closer and pushing him further. His legs peddled to keep him up, though every time he felt himself slip, Viktor brought him back up just to spin him again.

 

“Please stop,” he laughed when he found the chance. “I’m getting dizzy.” He felt himself being pulled again until his body crashed a little hard into Viktor’s. His skin was shining with water, droplets slipping over his skin, flesh warm underneath Yuuri’s hands. He was momentarily stunned, feeling the words die in his throat. His cheeks flared. He wanted to wrap his arms around the man and hug him close, but refrained.

 

Above, the sun had set properly, making way for the moon as it hung in the sky. Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the trees, bright stars framing the dark blue and black. They blinked and glittered both in the sky and on the surface of the pool. The trees were shrouded in darkness, but where they swam was bright. Yuuri thought that Viktor’s smile might have had something to do with that.

 

“Do you want to see the cave behind the waterfall?”

 

Yuuri’s eyes opened wide. “Yes!”

 

Viktor swam before him, his hand still holding tightly onto Yuuri’s and guiding him through the pool. The waterfall cascaded before them, catching the moonlight in its curtain. They swam through it, feeling it fall over their heads and their back, eyes closed against it.

 

From the outside, it looked as if the waterfall ended there. The rocks behind it seemed too close, as if a wall was behind it. But as they swam underneath, Yuuri saw the little alcove behind, worn away after years from the spray of the water, just enough for them to sit. At the bottom, a bed of moss had been placed, ripped from the rock surfaces around the pool. Small flowers sprouted on the edges, rocks leading to the alcove like steps.

 

Viktor helped him up, supporting him as he stepped up the small steps. He sat himself on the moss, and Viktor took his place beside him. It was small, and because of it, they were pressed together with their arms and thighs touching.

 

But the view was even more beautiful here than it had been out there. The rocks around them kept them in, while the curtain of the waterfall covered their front, hiding them from the world. Beyond, he could see the blurred view of the forest, the vague blue of the pool, moonlight in the night air. If he looked close enough, he could see their wavy reflections in the waterfall, staring back at them. He thought he could lose time in the pool, but he had been wrong. He could gladly stay here, sat on the moss, behind the waterfall, forever.

 

“I sit here a lot,” Viktor said, whispering, as if he didn’t want to break the sound of the waterfall. “I’d spend hours, just thinking and watching.”

 

“I can see why,” Yuuri whispered back, unsure on what to say. Nothing he ever said would be enough. “This is just gorgeous.”

 

Viktor leaned against the wall, a proud smile on his lips as he watched the shimmer of the water. “Isn’t it just? I’ve been wanting to show you it for a while.”

 

Yuuri tore his eyes away from the stunning view to look at another. Viktor’s face in profile would always take his breath away. The sharp lines looked as if a god drew it, high cheek bones the envy of everyone – Yuuri included. His eyes seemed to capture the waterfall, the stars, more alive than any Yuuri had ever seen. “Why’s that?”

 

And he was even more handsome when he turned to look at Yuuri, their eyes connecting. Each time was like the first time. “Because you showed me your life, I wanted to show you mine.”

 

“My life isn’t this beautiful or interesting though.”

 

“I’d say it is. But I guess that’s because I’ve never seen anything like it. You got used to it, like I got used to this place.”

 

“How could you ever get used to this? I’d never get tired of it.”

 

“You would if you saw it often enough.”

 

Yuuri didn’t argue more, instead thought about it. He supposed that maybe Viktor was right. He’d grown tired of the Flower Festival and Dewin Oak – but that was until he was showing Viktor around. When someone else couldn’t help but be awed by something you were used to, it made you look at it with fresh eyes again. He’d have stayed in his home for most of the festival, as he usually did. Relax at home after his influx of orders had been dealt with. Take the days to sleep in, to wear nothing but pyjamas, rest and watch the shows he hadn’t had time to catch up on.

 

But Viktor had wanted to see. And on some level he had wanted to show Viktor the town and festival not just because he was new to it, but because he wanted to show the man the world he lived in. It might not have been interesting to him, but it was to Viktor. And he wanted to see that awe, that expression on Viktor’s face when he saw things Yuuri had grown tired of. Every year it was the same stalls and art, but it was a first for Viktor. Fireworks lost their spark with him when he’d seen them a thousand times, but Viktor watched them with childlike wonder. And Yuuri found himself making a list of things he wanted to show Viktor, just to see his reaction. He supposed it was the same for the other man.

 

“Thank you,” he said, turning his gaze back to Viktor. “Thank you for showing me your world.”

 

Viktor smiled back. “Thanks for showing me yours.”

 

Yuuri’s gaze slipped to Viktor’s lips. He was reminded of their kiss. He’d thought it was a bad idea, a thing that happened because he was swept away by emotion. He was an emotional being, hardly ever relaxed or laidback because of how strongly he felt. He empathised too much, some said. He cried too easily at documentaries, at animal adverts, at dramas. He immersed himself heavily in things.

 

He thought it was a weakness. Phichit had told him it was his strength.

 

Sometimes he felt too strongly to recognise another feeling that was waiting for recognition inside of him. Since the kiss, he’d been panicking. He’d been so worried about it that he hadn’t talked about it. And since then, something else had been breaking through.

 

It had taken this day, this hike, for him to take a seat back and realise it. To see Viktor bathed in light, smiling, to be this close to Viktor to know what it was he was feeling. Why he had kissed the other man.

 

And hopefully, why Viktor had kissed him back.

 

When he looked back up into Viktor’s eyes, he saw Viktor with the same expression, mouth slightly open, cheeks flushed, and eyes never once looking away from Yuuri’s face. In the time he had been thinking, they’d gotten closer.

 

He knew what he was feeling now. But Viktor beat him to it.

 

“Yuuri, I love you.”

 

If he hadn’t figured out his own feelings by then, he knew he would have with those words. He felt his heart skip a beat, his chest tighten, his lips pull into a smile. He leaned closer until their noses touched and breathed into the space between them, “And I love you too, Viktor.”

 

Viktor cupped the side of his face as their lips touched. Yuuri gripped Viktor’s arm. His whole body trembled as they kissed, the world around them melting away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> And here we are, in the second half of the story now. I hope this makes up for the 'no talking about the kiss' thing? XD This might have been my favourite chapter to write, just because of all the awe and nature and closeness :3 haha I hope there weren't any mistakes! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr for updates or more
> 
> [here](https://lanaberryrawr.tumblr.com/)


	7. White Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - the first part of this is a sexually explicit scene, therefore if you don't want to read it, go down to the first ***

His spine shivered. As the alcove pushed them closer, Yuuri wasn’t sure where he began or where Viktor ended. Viktor’s touch was all over his skin, a blush spreading from his cheeks to his chest. The lips against him were warm, pressing, hot breath ghosting against his face every time they drew back for a break. It didn’t last long before they leaned back in.

 

The sound of the waterfall had been so loud before, water crashing against the pool and the rocks below. Now he could only hear Viktor’s heartbeat, coming only second to his own. He pressed himself closer still, placing his palms on Viktor’s shoulders.

 

The kiss deepened until the air around them was hot. At the back of his mind, Yuuri wondered if this was alright. He didn’t like to jump into things too quickly. He’d only known Viktor for a few days.

 

But as Viktor kissed him back hard, pressing him to the wall of the alcove, Yuuri couldn’t help but find it idiotic. In these last few days, he felt like he’d gotten to know Viktor more than he knew some he shared his town with. They’d been through emotions at a faster pace than others, and it seemed to work for them. How was that wrong?

 

Viktor drew back, and their gazes connected. This close, Yuuri could see everything about Viktor’s expression even without his glasses. He could see his own reflection in Viktor’s blown pupils, Viktor’s lips pink and wet from their kiss, the air between them filled with their heavy breathing. The doubts in his mind quickly vanished. Because Viktor was here, because he didn’t ever want him to go.

 

He saw the same promise in Viktor’s eyes as he leaned back in for a softer kiss, his hand trailing along Yuuri’s sides, fingers dancing across slippery skin.

 

Yuuri bathed in the attention. He loved to be close to people, was a huggy person after being brought up that way with his parents. And with a best friend like Phichit, not a day passed without a strong hug. But none of that made him feel the same way as when Viktor touched him. He was aware of every single touch, where each finger pressed, as they glided and stroked, leaving burning trails.

 

The kiss deepened again. Yuuri returned it, pressing until Viktor was the one against the wall, his own hands trailing over Viktor’s back. The broad muscles shivered under his attention, skin smooth, warm. The water on their bodies quickly evaporated, the spray of the waterfall too far away. He sat on his knees and the moss softened the position. Below him, Viktor reached to keep their lips connected as his hands stroked Yuuri’s spine.

 

He pulled away again, looking down into Viktor’s face. He brushed his hair back to view the whole frame, memorising each feature, touching every part until he could sculpt it from memory. Viktor did the same, one hand on his face, the other switching from his arms to his stomach, his legs, thighs, anything he could touch.

 

Viktor’s four words resounded in his head every moment he found silence. Yuuri, I love you. Yuuri, I love you. Yuuri, I love you. He could never tire of those words. He could get a tattoo of them, ink them for all to see, spray them on his walls.

 

He smiled down at the man he equally loved. “I really love you.”

 

Viktor gave a big smile back, his eyes sparkling under the moonlight, almost as bright as the blues of his eyes. “I really love you too.”

 

Overwhelmed, Yuuri leaned in for another kiss. If he could spend the rest of his life like this, he would. He’d take every second to remind himself. He should have realised with that first kiss.

 

Viktor pulled his lips off to begin to trail along his jaw bone, kissing each patch of skin carefully. He followed it to Yuuri’s ear, nibbling at the connection, before he began to kiss down the column of Yuuri’s neck.

 

There was a bit of burn, and Yuuri knew what he would be finding there in the morning. He’d need to cover that up before rumours spread around town – or more appropriately, before Phichit and Chris spread explicit rumours around town and watched the chaos while feigning innocence.

 

But he couldn’t be bothered to stop Viktor from doing it. The kisses were lighting a fire inside of him, and he wanted to feel it just as intensely. He spread his fingers through Viktor’s hair and pressed him to his throat, encouraging. He felt his breath hitch when Viktor’s thumbs brushed passed his nipples.

 

“Is this alright?” Viktor asked, his voice deep, gruff, barely contained.

 

If Yuuri was being honest, that voice made him burn just as hot as Viktor’s actions had done. “More than alright,” he assured.

 

Thumbs began to press and twist on his chest, turning his nipples hard, messaging the flesh. Lips nibbled at his collarbone, and he found himself panting above the man. For just a second, he wondered if Viktor had any experience before this. Then as Viktor’s hand dipped to stroke his stomach, teasing at the band of his underwear, he couldn’t think anymore. It didn’t matter, he decided. Because Viktor was more than willing, despite lack of or extensive experience.

 

“I know we’ve just confessed…” Viktor stopped, his kissing and hands pausing for a second.

 

Yuuri cupped his face and brought him up to see his expression. “It’s alright, Viktor,” Yuuri replied. “We don’t need to rush if you don’t want.”

 

“That’s not it. I just… I know sometimes people don’t want to rush-”

 

“I’m fine with it if you are,” Yuuri assured. “I trust you. You trust me, right?”

 

Viktor nodded, no reluctance in his action.

 

“Then we just see how it goes.” He brought Viktor up for another tender kiss, unsure where his own confidence had come from. Usually, he didn’t rush. He found it hard to trust partners nearly as much as he trusted Viktor right now. But it had come easily with the other man, and he felt a desire inside of him demand everything.

 

Viktor accepted it, pulling Yuuri closer until he could slip off his remaining clothing. Once Yuuri was sat naked, he helped slip Viktor’s off, eager to not be the only one and all the while making sure that their lips never left one another. He pulled Yuuri until he was straddling the older man, naked thighs on either side of Viktor’s waist. Viktor pressed his palms to Yuuri’s hips, kneading the flesh.

 

Usually, Yuuri hated anyone touching him there. Even with his weight loss, his mind still reminded him of what his body once looked like. But there was no malice in Viktor’s actions. Rather, there was admiration.

 

“You know,” Viktor whispered, disconnecting their lips once more, but keeping their foreheads joined, “I know you called me handsome, but you didn’t wait long until you got me naked.”

 

Yuuri couldn’t stop the bubble of laughter that rose from his chest. “You’re the one that finds any moment he can to take your clothes off.” As a thought occurred to him, he asked, “Did you not wear any clothes in the forest?” Thinking of it, the first time he had met Viktor, the man had been naked, clothed in only petals.

 

“Of course, it’s how my kind walk. Completely one with nature.”

 

Yuuri couldn’t stop the blush that burned at the image, Viktor walking through the forest in a cover of petals, naked with a backdrop of green. Bathing naked. Sat behind the waterfall naked. As he was now. Except this time, he wasn’t alone.

 

“And now you’re got me doing the same.”

 

Viktor’s gaze raked down Yuuri’s form, not at all subtle in their meaning. He gave a smirk as he looked back up, pupils blown until the blue was almost gone. “Now that I know what you look like without clothes, I’ll have you doing it all the time.”

 

Under Viktor’s gaze, Yuuri burned brighter, finding a confidence inside of himself that he had not had with previous partners. He stared into Viktor’s eyes as he shuffled closer, pressing every inch of himself to Viktor, feeling their heart beat against one another.

 

Viktor’s arm wrapped around his waist, locking him there, slightly dominating. Yuuri felt his breath hitch at the idea.

 

Viktor continued to kiss dark marks into Yuuri’s chest as their eyes remained connected, a spark glinting in his eyes as he took Yuuri’s nipple into his mouth. Yuuri tried to keep staring, but as moans began to pour out of his mouth, accompanied by little whimpers, it became increasingly harder to keep his eyes open.

 

Viktor chuckled at the display. His free hand messaged the area around his groin, inching closer and closer, teasing. Yuuri thought it cruel, especially after his childlike awe all yesterday.

 

“I like to surprise,” Viktor said, replying to the words Yuuri hadn’t known he’d said. “I love every reaction of yours.”

 

Finally, Viktor’s hand wrapped around the place he needed the most, slowly stroking his cock until Yuuri was writhing in his lap. He was aware of Viktor’s own desire pressing against his leg, but as he moved to return the favour, Viktor pulled him back with the arm around his waist.

 

He moaned at the restraint, surprised by his own reaction. Before he had time to think about it though, Viktor nipped at his nipple.

 

Vaguely, at the back of his mind, he was aware of where they were. He was aware of the darkness beyond the sparkling water, the moonlight upon the magical place, pool calm beside them. He was aware that while they were hidden, his voice carried through the quiet forest. Not that people ventured this far, he knew that, Viktor had told him. He just knew he should have been more worried. But he wasn’t.

 

Viktor made sure to help him forget with every action. His thumb would circle the head of his penis, spreading his pleasure, teasing, pressing ever so slightly. Yuuri whined and bucked, his words failing him, but he was aware that Viktor knew what he wanted. He vowed he would give the same payback once it was the other way around.

 

Viktor’s grip on his waist would leave some marks, he could feel. But it only heightened his pleasure as Viktor’s thumb stroked the skin there. As Viktor continued to tease, Yuuri continued to buck.

 

The coil inside of his stomach began to tug and pull, pressure building. His fingers dug into Viktor’s shoulders, his moans choking at the back of his throat. It was only then that Viktor thought it was time to stop teasing. He stroked up and down at a fast pace, urging Yuuri’s hips forward, until Yuuri moaned out his release.

 

He almost flopped onto Viktor, feeling the rush of blood through his system, his muscles relaxing. But he couldn’t. He peeled Viktor’s arm away until he was able to move from straddling, to kneel until he could bend forwards.

 

Viktor made to say something, but Yuuri shut him up as he mouthed at Viktor’s thigh. It was time to tease.

 

Viktor groaned out as Yuuri bit into the flesh, leaving little marks, payback for his own waist. He trailed along the inside of his thigh, actively avoiding the erection beside him. As he nibbled closer and closer, he turned to the other side, hearing Viktor’s whine above him.

 

A hand ran through his hair, stopping at the top of his head, moving the hair away from his face. So Viktor wanted a show, was that it? Yuuri was sure to make that come true.

 

It was a few minutes of teasing before Yuuri turned to where Viktor needed him. By then, the insides of Viktor’s thighs and his abdomen was littered in darker spots, ready to show brighter the next day. He glanced once up at Viktor, seeing his open mouth breathing heavily, heavily-lidded eyes, reddened cheeks, before he licked the underside of his cock.

 

Viktor’s breath hitched, the hand in Yuuri’s hair tightening a fraction. He licked up until he reached the head, taking it slightly into his mouth as he sucked. Viktor’s hips buckled, and Yuuri pressed down to stop the movement. Viktor whined again, but Yuuri didn’t relent.

 

A week ago, Yuuri had been alone in his house, labouring over crowns until his fingers bled, until his eyes were dry and tired, until he could see nothing but flowers behind closed eyelids. And now he was here, feeling more love than he had felt before, with a beautiful man in a beautiful place.

 

He took Viktor’s cock into his mouth, sucking, feeling it fill his cheeks comfortably. Viktor’s head rested against the wall as his chest heaved in breath. Yuuri liked this power, he decided. He pressed his fingers harder into Viktor’s hips, hoping that they would gain the same marks.

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor mumbled, stroking his hand down to the side of Yuuri’s face. He glanced down, and their eyes connected. Viktor’s eyes widened, breath pausing, when he saw the view below him. Yuuri kneeling, bending, face at his groin, naked, a waterfall framing their activities.

 

It was almost enough to finish him.

 

Noticing the tension in Viktor’s muscles, Yuuri worked harder, pulling back in a suck until Viktor left his lips. He stroked the flesh with his hand, trailing his tongue around the head, then took it back in.

 

It wasn’t long until Viktor found his release. Yuuri stroked him to his pleasure, raising himself to sit on Viktor’s leg, watching his face as Viktor lay back. His eyes fluttered as he finished, cheeks pink, mouth gaping open. He wondered how he himself had looked – probably not as beautiful.

 

Viktor engulfed him into a hug, both bathed in the afterglow, relaxation sifting through their forms. Yuuri wanted nothing more than to fall asleep here, but perhaps it wasn’t the best place. Viktor’s hand was trailing through his hair, Yuuri’s hands stroking Viktor’s chest, as they stared at one another.

 

Yuuri broke the silence with the question, “Want to go into the pool to wash off?” He started to feel sticky, his stomach cooling and drying with his release. Viktor grinned, accepting the idea.

 

They bathed in moonlight, washing their skin. As the night sunk on, they found one last dance in the pool before they began to dress.

 

***

 

It was still late at night when they began to descend the path down to Yuuri’s cottage. His fairy lights flickered in the darkness, guiding their way through to his home. It was calm inside, and he set their clothes beside the washer to be cleaned tomorrow.

 

They glided naked into his bed, weariness from a day of hiking in their muscles. Under the covers, they cuddled close, grins permanent on their lips even as they slipped into sleep.

 

They only had a few hours peace however, until the doorbell began to ring, followed by a series of knocks.

 

The daylight filtered in through the window in slices, the mid-morning sun ascending the blue sky. Yuuri grumbled, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes as he felt Viktor shuffle beside him. He groaned out, eyes trying to slip closed again, a yawn tearing its way through his mouth.

 

As the knocks continued, the doorbell getting increasingly louder, Yuuri threw open the covers and slipped on some leisure trousers and a top, not even bothering with pants.

 

“You can sleep,” he told Viktor when he saw the man peek blearily from the covers. “I’ll see who this is.”

 

He should have guessed, really. There could only be a handful of people that would be knocking on his door like this, but only one that would continue for this long. He opened the door, and there stood Phichit, grinning and hand raised in mid-knock.

 

“Morning, Yuuri!” he greeted, his voice much too loud this early. As if reading his thoughts, Phichit placed his hands on his hips and said, “It’s ten o’clock, and you’re still sleeping.”

 

“I didn’t fall asleep until late,” Yuuri explained.

 

“Yeah, well, you’re going to have to get up soon anyway. This is the last day of the Festival, you know? Viktor’s going to want to see it.”

 

Yuuri waved the comment away and rubbed the crick in his neck. “Okay, okay,” he replied. “We’ll get up now.”

 

Phichit peered over his shoulder. “Is he in there with you?” But before Yuuri could reply, Phichit gasped, pointing at Yuuri’s throat. “Oh. My _God_ , Yuuri!”  

 

Yuuri flinched and pulled his top to see, thinking Phichit had spotted a bug. But Phichit poked the skin of his throat, and Yuuri rushed to the mirror beside the coat rack. Phichit followed, closing the door behind him.

 

He’d completely forgotten. Yuuri had forgotten the consequences of what they had done, until he saw a necklace of hickeys peeking over the collar of his top. His skin might have been far from pale, but the bruises showed brightly. Remembering their actions, he pulled his top up to see definitive finger marks on his hips and stomach.

 

“There too?” Phichit gasped. “Wow, Yuuri, you kinky bastard. And how is flower boy?”

 

As if called, Viktor stumbled from the bed, keeping the covers around his hips. They turned, and Yuuri’s already creeping blush deepened. The covers were low, showing the strings of finger marks along Viktor’s hips, kiss marks along the thigh that slipped from the blanket. He rubbed his face, drawing attention to the kissed lips, still pink from their session. Yuuri knew his must have looked the same.

 

“ _Yuuri_ ,” Phichit gasped. He sounded surprised, but the massive grin on his face suggested he knew this would happen. “I told you sharing a bed with a hot man would lead to sex, you minx.”

 

“Actually, it wasn’t in bed, it was at a waterfall,” Viktor grumbled, his voice deep with sleep, no filter between his mind and mouth.

 

Yuuri closed his eyes and hid his face behind his hands, groaning. Phichit, however, looked about ready to feint at the information. He squealed, “ _Yuuri_! Oh my god, I never knew you liked public sex, but I should have!”

 

“Phichit, you go back to the festival,” Yuuri commanded, embarrassment lacing every word, “and Viktor and I will be following soon, alright?” But it took Yuuri pushing the man out of the house before the conceded. Once the door was closed and the cottage was silent again, he turned and leaned his back against the door. Viktor still stood in the threshold of their bedroom, running a hand through his hair.

 

As the kiss marks along Viktor’s thigh stayed on display, Yuuri groaned. Memories of what had happened last night etched their selves in his mind, vivid detail. His skin was on fire, but he felt a familiar burning inside him starting off again.

 

“I’m going to have a shower,” Yuuri said.

 

Viktor gave him a smirk, one that lit his blood on fire, promises lurking. “Mind if I join?”

 

“No, Viktor, we don’t have time!”

 

He joined anyway.

 

***

 

It took a while, but Yuuri managed to find more clothing for Viktor to wear. The trousers were a close fit, but the top inched up, peeking at Viktor’s stomach. Normally, Yuuri wouldn’t mind, but if he stretched, the marks were visible. Yuuri pushed him into a thick coat.

 

Phichit was waiting outside the main square for them, speaking to some of the tourists. He couldn’t keep the smirk from his face when he saw them coming closer.

 

His gaze slipped over Viktor quickly. “Yuuri, you really need to get him some clothes that fit. Or are you trying to put him on display?”

 

Yuuri rubbed the back of his neck. Honestly, he and Viktor hadn’t discussed how long he would be staying. At the start, he thought he was a passing interest to Viktor, that he’d fade out of his life as quickly as he’d come. Now, though it was uncertain, he didn’t feel like that anymore. Maybe he could get some clothes, make a drawer for Viktor. “I’ll do some of that today.”

 

“You’ll need to do it soon. The shops close for the parade, remember?”

 

Yuuri was about to answer, until he felt Viktor grip his arm and gasp, “Parade?”

 

Yuuri was struck by the return of the child-like awe in Viktor’s eyes. Since last night, he’d forgotten some of the innocence the other man held. Yuuri’s cheeks burned bright again, remembering the things Viktor had done. “Uh, yeah. The last day of the festival has a parade.”

 

Phichit sighed, obviously not happy with Yuuri’s explanation. He coughed to draw the attention of Viktor, and said, “It’s more like a ceremony. There’s a decorated float, in which the Flower Royals sits. That can be any kid randomly allocated from school, and they dress up like a King or Queen of flowers. Then there’s the small circus that goes with it.” Phichit paused, counting them off by his fingers. “There’s the horse parade that follows behind, a small band that precedes it, flower canons, a paint party, and all the mess.”

 

“Every year, it’s horrible to have to clean up after,” Yuuri grumbled.

 

Phichit crossed his arms before his chest. “And you almost made Viktor miss it.”

 

“Yuuri, I want to see the parade,” Viktor begged.

 

And Yuuri couldn’t refuse Viktor’s gaze, no matter how hard he tried. They walked together towards the main centre. Yuuri was going through the clothes shops in his head, thinking of what would suit the other man, going so far as to wonder if he needed suits. Viktor in a suit? Yuuri felt his breath hitch at the idea. He coughed away his reaction, thankful that Phichit and Viktor were distracting each other with their conversation.

 

Phichit was asking Viktor all sorts of questions, an attempt at being subtle. If Viktor knew Phichit knew what he was, he didn’t let on. He answered the younger man’s questions of where he had come from, how old he was, where his hair had gone.

 

That question Yuuri worried about. He wondered if Viktor would have a negative reaction to it, but he smiled and answered that it was time for a change and thanked Phichit when the boy said it suited him well.

 

They entered the clothes shops first. Yuuri had a mind for plain jeans and tops for Viktor first, the essentials that could be worn in home and outside. But, of course, Phichit had other ideas. He pushed the man to the wracks with the patterns, throwing out combinations that Yuuri would never have thought of. He created piles upon piles of clothes beside the changing rooms, ushering Viktor in to change.

 

When Viktor had been in the changing rooms for a while, Yuuri became a little concerned. “Maybe he doesn’t know how to do up buttons or something? Maybe he’s gotten stuck?”

 

Phichit chuckled. “And are you volunteering to help him?”

 

Yuuri said nothing. His cheeks might as well have been a permanent red by now, between Phichit and Viktor.

 

It was only a minute later Viktor came out, a striped white and blue top, cut to show just a little of his collarbones and frame his chest perfectly, with fitted black jeans. To tie the whole thing together, blue vans donned his feet.

 

It wasn’t the most outrageous of Phichit’s picks, starting off simple as he had said, but Yuuri could already feel his heart stammer inside of his chest. The clothes did so much more for his figure than his own second-hand ones hand. At Phichit’s urging, Viktor turned in a circle, and Yuuri just about had to hold back his gasp when he saw the way the jeans fit perfectly in the back.

 

Still thinking about it, he hardly realised when Viktor stepped back into the changing room.

 

“And this is why you call me your best friend,” Phichit whispered, a triumphant smile on his lips. “You can’t say I don’t do anything for you.”

 

Each outfit was a treasure. Some shorts that displayed Viktor’s calves and a hint of thigh, cut off just before Yuuri’s claiming marks had been placed. A top that purposely showed off his stomach. A long top much like a dress, showing off his bottom curves. Trousers that fitted every line, fit his hips perfectly. Each and every one was making Yuuri blush, all of which Phichit was aware of.

 

By the time they were done, Yuuri could feel how dry his mouth was. And as they went to pay for the clothes, Yuuri argued that Viktor would need a range of clothes, ready for all seasons. He had more than enough money because of the flower crown orders. But Phichit raised an eyebrow, knowing the real reason behind Yuuri’s purchases.

 

Once they had finished, the stores were beginning to close. The preparations of the parade had begun, the crowd following to the town hall where it would begin. The circus had come out, juggling and balancing plates, women and men dressed as flower people walking on stilts. Children were given baskets of petals to throw at the float, but toddlers had begun early. Petals already littered the road, creating a sea of pastel colour.

 

Viktor was wearing one of their purchases, a plain white shirt and three-quarter length blue trousers, trainers on his feet. Even something so simple had Yuuri staring. Since the yukata, he hadn’t seen anything that fit Viktor properly, and now he chastised himself for not buying things earlier.

 

Viktor drew more than a few gazes. Yuuri could see some whispering, the old ladies of the village curious, blushes on their cheeks. Some of the petals in the air had landed on his hair, pink against silver, blue caught in the folds of his white top. Yuuri sighed, wishing that they had brought their flower crowns in their haste.

 

They found their places, just a few rows from the front in the path the float would take. At the moment, it was hidden behind the hall, waiting. The bunting fluttered in the breeze, the lights flickering on the sides of the buildings. Far off, Yuuri could hear the neighing of the horses ready to take the float and some to follow behind. The clock tower above the hall chimed down ready for twelve, the time that the float had traditionally started. Ten minutes to go, and Yuuri could see the familiar frantic movements of the coordinators.

 

Chris found them, rushing over to greet. He still wore his crown, and a top that looked as if it had been crafted from petals alone. His boyfriend was hot on his heels, looking just as colourful.

 

“Viktor, pleasure to see you again,” he welcomed after greeting Phichit and Yuuri. “Have you ever seen a parade?”

 

Viktor shook his head. “Never.”

 

“You’re in for a treat.”

 

The crowd were growing increasingly more impatient as the clock struck seconds, all eyes glancing up to check. Phichit thrummed with nervous energy, having been one of the towns folk that had helped prepare. Nothing had gone wrong yet, but Phichit said how he couldn’t help but feel it would.

 

“You’ve checked over everything a hundred times,” Chris assured. “If anything is wrong, you’d have found it.”

 

But it didn’t calm Phichit. All his hard work wouldn’t pay off until it was completely done and over with. So far, the festival had gone off without a hitch, despite Phichit’s insistence that they were forgetting something. Yuuri agreed, that there was something that was niggling at the back of his head, and Phichit was hardly ever wrong. Perhaps this was just one of those times though.

 

Just as the clock struck the five-minute warning, Yuuri saw Yurio rushing behind the crowd. His movements were agitated, face pale, eyes glancing around wildly.

 

Yuuri placed a hand on Phichit’s shoulder. “Hey, Yurio looks a little upset. I’m going to go and see if he’s alright, okay?”

 

Phichit nodded. “The parade begins in five minutes though. Bring him here with you if he’s fine.”

 

“Okay.” He turned to Viktor, cupping the side of his face as he leaned in to whisper, “I’ll be back in a bit. If I’m not back by the time it starts, I’ll be back soon after.” He ignored how Phichit and Chris were grinning at him, instead focused on Viktor’s smile and nod. Before he could let the gazes on him stop him, he pressed a kiss to the man’s cheek.

 

He heard Chris’ low whistle as he slipped through the crowd. Yurio had vanished somewhere behind the buildings. Yuuri ran to follow, glancing around to see if he could see the boy’s tell-tale leopard print clothing. He managed to see a flash behind the florist before it disappeared.

 

“Yurio?” he called. A few of the stragglers on their way to the parade turned at his shout. But no Yurio.

 

He followed where he thought the boy was heading, further and further away from the populated town centre. By the time Yuuri reached the outskirts, he was alone in the usually-busy streets. He called the boy’s name again.

 

He finally found him slipping into one of the large storage garages, the metal door clanging heavily behind him. He rushed to follow, the building dark and smelling foul. Yurio was bending to peer underneath one of the wooden planks, left and long forgotten since festivals years ago. Yuuri switched on the light, the low hanging bulb suspended from the ceiling.

 

“Yurio, what’s wrong?”

 

The boy turned suddenly, eyes wide. “Yuuri?”

 

“Yes, it’s me.”

 

The boy gave one more glance under the wood before he stood and brushed the trimmings from his knees. “Have you seen Potya?”

 

“Your cat?” At the boy’s hesitant nod, Yuuri replied. “No. Why?”

 

“She got into another fight. She was bleeding a little bit and I wanted to take her to the vet, but she’s scared so she ran off.” He glanced around, running to search behind the shelves. “I thought I saw her run this way.”

 

Yuuri hadn’t seen the boy so worried before. He liked to pretend that he was strong, that even the love he had for his cat couldn’t break his persona. Yuuri had had a little glimpse a few days ago, when his cat was being checked up, but it was nothing like now. His hands shook as they pulled shelving from the wall, dropping a half-filled red paint can over the floor.

 

“I’ll help you find her.” He began to look behind the old, float that had been left over from last year. The space was small, but big enough for a cat of Potya’s size to slip into. He moved the spare stilts from the gap in the corner, but nothing hidden there.

 

The storage garage was often in use, materials left from previous festivals left forgotten at the back, while the front was used for the current. Some space had been cleared while the float was in use today, while other spaces had been taken up by things such as the inflatable screen from yesterday, lying against the wall. He moved it, peering into the shadows. But there was no cat.

 

“How badly hurt was she?” Yuuri asked.

 

“Not too bad. She was limping a little, just some blood. But I want to get it checked anyway.”

 

“What did she fight?”

 

“I don’t know. I think it was another cat, but it could have been a small dog. That’s what the vet said last time.”

 

Just as feisty as her owner, Yuuri thought, but kept the thoughts to himself. It wouldn’t be what the worried boy wanted to hear at the moment. Once he had checked everything at the front, he moved to the cluster that Yurio was working his way through. They tore away the mess from the walls, piles of materials crashing to the floor in a cloud of dust. They coughed through it.

 

“Maybe she’s not in here, Yurio,” Yuuri had to say after a few minutes searching. He didn’t know the time, but he knew the parade must have started already. “We could look around the building instead, see if she’s hiding behind it?”

 

“I thought I saw her come in here.” He pulled at an old rocking chair, accidentally pulling out a wire from the wall as he did. He flinched, but nothing sparked. “Maybe she ran out while we weren’t looking? But the doors are closed.” He paused for a second, his nose twitching. “What’s that smell?”

 

“Smell?” Yuuri raised his nose, smelling the air. The building smelled of old, dusty supplies, decaying wood huddled in a corner, stale air. As it always did. “It’s just the building.”

 

“No, I think I smell petrol.”

 

Yuuri narrowed his eyes, sniffing again. There was a hint of something hovering in the air, something that sent the nerves in the tip of his nose haywire. But he wasn’t sure if it was petrol or not. Best not push it, though. He grabbed the boy’s arm. “I’m sure she’s not in here, Yurio. We’ll have a look outside.”

 

“But what if she is?” He rooted himself to the floor and cupped his hands before his mouth. He called his cat’s name, waiting for something to move in the darkness.

 

It was a minute later that Yuuri began to smell the scent Yuuri had been talking about, the undeniable toxin of petrol. It was growing, becoming more pungent by the second. He knew then that they’d tipped something in their search. “Yurio, let’s go,” he said, his desperate tone finally convincing the teen.

 

Though he was reluctant, looking over his shoulder every few seconds, Yurio allowed the older man to lead him through the garage. But he paused.

 

“Yuuri?” Yurio asked, about to ask why they had stopped. And then it became clear.

 

A canister of petrol had tipped where it lay on a disused table. The liquid dribbled from the table, spreading thick until it covered the doorway, growing every second, seeping into the pile of mattresses on the other side. Their eyes followed the dripping, seeing it fall down the wall, lines creeping closer to the live plug besides the table.

 

“Yurio, get behind me,” Yuuri insisted, urging him with one arm.

 

“We can jump over it-”

 

Just as Yurio was speaking, the line touched the plug. It took only a second, the air filled with a low sizzle, before the fire spread through the petrol. It happened quickly, soaked in the liquid, lighting the mattress in a matter of seconds, the wooden table catching alight. With the petrol and the stale air, it grew long before Yurio could finish his interrupted sentence.

 

Yuuri took action as quickly as he could, seeing the petrol still growing, their only exit impossible to get to. He pushed the teen as far back as they could go, placed him to sit on the ground, before he pushed everything metal that he could between them and the flames.

 

“That’s not going to do much!” Yurio cried, a hysteric note creeping into his tone. “Who the fuck puts a petrol canister next to a plug?”

 

But Yuuri continued anyway. The petrol would burn away before the flames reached them, but not before everything flammable would catch fire. Yuuri pushed everything made of wood away from them. In his head, he tried to remember past lessons from school, of how to cope if a fire broke out in a home.

 

Yuuri glanced up. Smoke alarms, that was step one. Alarms. Make everyone aware. Perhaps someone could hear them from here.

 

But it seemed no one had checked the fire alarms in a long time. Even as the black smoke began to grow and plume up into the ceiling, the alarms remained quiet. Sprinklers, any sprinklers? But there were none. Because this building didn’t have anything incredibly important, not close enough to any other buildings, made decades ago and not on the list to be updated.

 

In only a few minutes, the flames licked upon the front part of the garage, black smoke rising high, exit no longer in view. No alarms, no sprinklers, and far away from where the crowds were.

 

“Yuuri?”

 

Behind him, Yurio cuddled his knees closer, his eyes caught on the black of the ceiling, the orange of the flames, the flickering sounds. The fire popped and burned, the smell in the room heavy.

 

Yuuri checked his pockets. No phone. He usually left it at home. He cursed. He sat beside the young teen and pulled him into a hug. “It’s going to be alright,” he assured, “Someone will come soon.”

 

The smoke would find cracks in the garage structure and rise high into the sky, above the rooves, and the parade would see. When they watched the balloons fly high in the sky, they would see them pass a cloud of black.

 

Someone had to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I notice that I like to make things really fluffy before scenes that are painful... So I apologise for the ending of this chapter after how fluffy the last one was and how the start of this chapter was... Please don't hate me? XD 
> 
> Something like this happened during the festival we have in our town, except no one was inside luckily. 
> 
> Also, now we only have three chapters left until the end... like wow, this has come by much faster than I ever expected! I'm having to start ideas on the next project already! haha I absolutely love doing this for this site much more than I expected to! 
> 
> You can find me for updates and more Yoi on my tumblr 
> 
> [here](https://lanaberryrawr.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	8. Black Rose

The smoke grew thick, blushing black as it seeped through the open windows at the top of the walls. It began to clog the air. Above them, they could barely see the ceiling. Yuuri urged Yurio to stay as close to the floor as he could, to take deep breaths through the material of his top. It wasn’t long before the teen began coughing.

 

The fire had grown so large in only a matter of minutes. Yuuri had seen the videos in school, three minute long videos in which a small spark had managed to consume a whole room. It would take a little longer here, with the size of the garage and the lack of sufficient burning materials. But consume the room would be what it did eventually.

 

“I-I don’t think she’s in here,” Yurio coughed, green eyes glancing around. “She’d have run out of cover by now, right?”

 

There was a hint of desperation in the young boy’s voice. Yuuri hugged him closer to his side, swallowing down his own fear. “She must have slipped out before it started.”

 

“You think so? Is she safe?”

 

“I’m sure.”

 

They had to speak a little louder, the popping flames growing with everything they set fire to. The roar of it was far more deafening than Yuuri had expected. The videos didn’t compare. And though the flames were far off still, the heat was already making their skins slick with sweat. Yuuri continued to shield Yurio as much as he could, looking out for any hiding places he could settle the boy into if the need came.

 

“By now, someone must have seen the smoke,” he assured the boy.

 

“I can’t hear anyone outside though.”

 

“We probably wouldn’t, not over the sound of the fire.” Yuuri wasn’t sure, but this wasn’t the place for uncertainty. Nothing but assurances and confidence was going to calm Yurio.

 

A piece of a wooden pylon cracked and fell from where it leaned against the wall. It crashed to the floor, its flames touching the wrack of old bunting to their left. They burst into flames within a matter of seconds, drawing the danger closer. Yuuri pushed the younger man to the corner and continued to shield him.

 

Yurio coughed again. Yuuri pulled his top up to shield his mouth further, instructing him to breathe through the fabric. “Don’t pull it down for anything,” he instructed, doing the same with his own clothes.

 

His palms were sticky and wet from nerves and heat, the back of his neck soaked. Soot already clung to his clothes from where it had fallen from the cloud above. Ash covered the floor, flying fragments of fire still burning. It was becoming harder and harder to see anything.

 

“Stupid fucking cat,” Yurio muttered. “Stupid person who left a fucking petrol canister next to an open live plug. Stupid fucking fire-eater.”

 

“Fire-eater?” Keep up some conversation, he thought. Distract the boy before he let the fear devour him.

 

“Yeah, the same we had last year, remember? That was his petrol. He cancelled and someone was meant to give it back to him or to get rid of it. Must have forgotten.” Yurio took a deep breath through the cloth, coughing as some of the smoke filtered in.

 

It clicked inside of Yuuri’s mind. That was what Phichit had felt they’d forgotten. Something so small as giving an entertainer his possessions back. If someone had remembered, they wouldn’t be here. Yuuri shook his head, tearing himself away from that thought. He knew it was dangerous, and it was as much their fault as the one who had forgotten it. But Phichit had been right. There was always something that was forgotten in the chaos. It had just never backfired quite like this.

 

Something else cracked and fell. The metal walls of the building began to groan under the heat, expanding. Black stained the metal, memories of what had happened here immortalised for all to remember. The swinging light bulb burst under the pressure, sprinkling glass over the floor, fire providing the only light.

 

Yurio chocked back a sob behind him, his body trembling. Yuuri shushed him with a calming hand on his shoulder, seeing the boy staring intently at the closest flames. They licked up the side of the building, growing, taking in the air around them.

 

They paused when they finally heard alarms outside. From one of the tiny open windows, something was coming closer. There were voices, raised with panic.

 

“Think they finally noticed?” Yuuri asked, attempting to make a joke. But his voice came out strained, the smoke affecting his vocal cords.

 

“About fucking time.”

 

But they didn’t relax yet. They heard commotion at the front where the flames were at their brightest and highest. They might have opened the doors. Or might not have. The smoke and the flames were too thick for the two trapped to see.

 

The voices continued to shout outside, words unintelligible. Alarms were sounding. Yuuri tried to make sense of what they were doing, but couldn’t. They could have been fighting the flames, but he couldn’t see. Perhaps it had slipped out the door and licked the dry grass outside.

 

A slow minute ticked by, each second feeling like a lifetime. The cloud was sinking closer to them, the fire spreading along the wall. He could hear Yurio take deep, staggering breaths behind him.

 

“What if they don’t come in time?” Yurio’s groggy voice whispered. He clutched at Yuuri’s shoulder, hand trembling, grip too tight.

 

Yuuri pushed him further against the wall, throwing everything that he thought could be flammable away, leaving them in an empty space. He pressed himself to cover Yurio completely.

 

Voices crept closer. Something creaked, but Yuuri was unsure of if it was someone opening the front door, or the walls as they weakened. But a gust of wind breathed through, the flames bending underneath he force.

 

Someone had opened the front door. But they couldn’t see. The flames too high, the smoke too thick. There were clearer shouts from that direction, still too quiet under the popping.

 

And then things happened slowly. It became obvious then as the cloud of black sunk to a foot above their heads. The flames grew closer and closer. Reality hit hard. It clicked inside of Yuuri’s head just as his heart almost stopped at the realisation. By the time a path had been made, they’d likely have had too much damage to their lungs.

 

The world slowed. The crackling of the flames drifted away in his mind, tears springing to the corner of his eyes. The shaking form behind him became more pronounced, just as the sobs did. Seconds ticked slower. He thought of his family and friends, sending his thoughts while knowing they wouldn’t hear. The image of Viktor came to his mind. He wondered how they all would feel.

 

Just as his confidence began to dwindle, something came into view. A lone orange petal, one he had mistaken for a bit of ember. It fell from the cloud slowly, riding the little breeze they had, until it landed on the floor before him. He looked up and saw more petals raining.

 

“What the-?” Yurio muttered behind him.

 

Yuuri felt hope spring inside of his chest. He could almost cry with relief, more so when the petals began to form someone in front of him.

 

Viktor appeared to him as he had the first time he’d seen the man. A form made entirely of flowers, curved into a body. Though it had no features, Yuuri knew it was undeniably Viktor. He’d become so accustomed to the man he could tell him from miles away, from any line up.

 

“What the _fuck_?” Yurio exclaimed, his voice cracking. “What is that?”

 

“Yurio, it’s alright, he’s here to save us,” Yuuri assured, crawling towards Viktor as he pulled the teen behind him. Viktor held out his hand, and Yuuri gripped it with no hesitation.

 

Another gust of wind hit the building. Rather from the door this time though, it spun around Viktor’s form, fighting away the flames and smoke like a tornado. But it stuttered, weak, and Viktor fought for it.  A pathway led towards the door, exposing the black floor, wood burned to ash, and the crowd waiting behind a line of fire-fighters.

 

“Go!” Viktor shouted, one word leaving his petal mouth, booming above the crackle of the fire.

 

Yuuri didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Yurio, tearing him away from staring at Viktor, and ran with him down the path. The cool, fresh air outside made them cough, the sun harsh to their irritated eyes. Yurio fell to the floor on his hands and knees, retching up the soot from his lungs, eyes streaming with the smoke.

 

Yuuri stayed up and spat the ash from his mouth, smelling nothing but burning. The crowds were shouting, someone was trying to grab him, and he was aware of his skin being sticky with more ash and sweat. He’d need a bath.

 

But before he thought of that, he turned to view the garage, urgency in his heart.

 

The smoke had risen miles up above the garage, still black and thick, the flames having breached the ceiling. Even the outside walls of the building had been stained the same black as the inside, the glow of orange seeping through the windows at the top. Through the open doors, Yuuri could see the pathway closing very quickly. 

 

In the middle of the pathway, Viktor’s form rushed towards them. He’d been running behind them, and in a short number of seconds, his power over the breeze had dwindled.

 

Yuuri could hear the gasps of the crowd, all witnessing the same thing in the middle of the building. They noticed it just as Yuuri realised what was happening. A short time frame, Yuuri and Yurio close to closing the path. They’d just managed to get out. Viktor hadn’t been so lucky.

 

He lost his control on the path of the flames just as he reached the door. The flames burned back to their form, raising higher than before, the wind fuelling them. Just as they burned, Viktor’s form slammed into the wall of flames.

 

A collective gasp rose through the crowd. Yuuri was being dragged away from the fire, just as he began to move towards it.

 

He watched as the few petals that had made it out burst into flames in the air. They fell to the floor, burning away in only a second, droplets of ash marking the floor. The air was knocked out of him, his eyes flitting from the blazes and the petals, heart choking in his chest.

 

He fought with whoever dragged him away. He might have been saying something, but he wasn’t sure. His throat ached and scratched, his eyes burned, and everything tasted of fire. He might have been screaming. Phichit would tell him later of how he was trying to, but his throat couldn’t let him. Phichit would tell him about how he tried to call for Viktor, but the fire fighters took him away.

 

And later, Phichit would say how everyone saw the same thing, burning petals falling to the floor.  

 

*** 

 

When Yuuri woke up, he was lying in a hospital bed. The white sheets and ceiling irritated his eyes, and it took a few times of blinking for him to be rid of the film he felt over his pupils. The sweat and the ash had been cleaned from his skin, he observed as he looked at his hands. A drip was attached to the back of his hand. His throat ached.

 

Yurio rested in the bed beside him, still sleeping. An oxygen tube was stuck to his nose. He’d also been cleaned, but some of his blond hair was still stained black. His skin was pale, dark circles under his eyes, and he looked awful. Yuuri wondered if he looked the same.

 

The memories came rushing back. He sat up, finding his muscles sore. The images cascaded into his mind, choking back his breath. Petals burning, Viktor lost in flames, too bright and too hot to follow. He felt sobs beginning to ache in his chest, irritating his throat. Tears slipped down his cheeks as he shook.

 

The fear of burning, of being trapped, consumed him. His heart beat faster against his ribcage until it seemed like it would never calm. Even as he tried to stop it, take deeper breaths, he couldn’t.

 

What did this mean? He wondered. Viktor’s petals had burned. They’d caught fire, and they’d disappeared. What did that mean? His hands shook as he cupped his face. How did his kind die? If every one of his petals were gone, could he not come back? He wanted to avoid that train of thought, but it kept surfacing. The image of their eyes connected as Viktor burned, as Yuuri was saved. He’d looked in pain. He couldn’t escape. The path was gone. Flames burned brighter.

 

There had been so much ash. Viktor was a part of that.

 

Yuuri leaned forwards and tried to regulate his breathing. He took deep breaths until his lungs were filled, carefully breathing out again, taking seconds to stop the jarring. Meanwhile, inside of his head, the memories were still etched forever. It was all so vivid – as if he was reliving it again.

 

“Yuuri?”

 

He knew it was too late, but Yuuri quickly wiped away the tears from his cheeks. He gave the best smile he could to greet the teen, but knew it came out as more of a grimace than anything. “Morning,” he paused. “I think.” It was still sunny outside, but that didn’t mean anything. It could have been afternoon, even early evening. He found he didn’t really care.

 

Yurio said nothing for a moment. He lay and stared at the older man.

 

Yuuri found he couldn’t quite meet his eyes. He stared at the man’s nose instead.

 

“I’m sorry.” Yurio said it so quietly, Yuuri could almost convince himself the boy hadn’t said it at all.

 

Yuuri shook his head and assured, “No, don’t, Yurio. It wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault.”

 

“If I hadn’t gone in there though-”

 

“Yurio, don’t.” He tried to push some authority into his voice, but it came out scratchy. He coughed away the bile in his throat and tried again. “It wasn’t your fault. None of it. Just unfortunate circumstances.”

 

“But-”

 

“No. No one is to blame, alright?”

 

Yurio nodded and looked down at his hands, fiddling with his fingers for a moment. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but stopped when he couldn’t quite find the words. Yuuri gave him the time to think about it in the hopes Yurio would think about the blame and realise the truth. Just a bunch of unfortunate coincidences. Not at all the boy’s fault.

 

“Who was he?”

 

Yuuri felt his chest tighten at the question, but feigned innocence. “Who?”

 

Yurio glared. “Don’t avoid it, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” When Yuuri continued to stay quiet, Yurio shouted, “The fucking man that came in with a bunch of flowers, the one who saved us, the one you tried to run back into the fire to save. You seemed very familiar with him.”

 

Yuuri looked away, feeling the tears beginning to try and push again. Viktor had burned. He hadn’t gotten out in time.

 

“He was made of flowers, Yuuri. Actual fucking flowers.”

 

“His name is Viktor,” Yuuri whispered, the empty room carrying his voice.

 

“And he’s like the myth?”

 

Yuuri nodded. “He’s a man of flowers. He’s been staying with me for the last few days.”

 

“How do you know someone like that?”

 

“He just showed himself to me.”

 

Yurio paused, moving himself to sit up. His sore muscles screamed in pain, but he moved anyway so that he could better see the older man. “He didn’t get out with us. Does that mean he’s… Do they die like that?”

 

Yuuri felt another sob wrack his chest. He controlled it before he replied, “I don’t know.”

 

“Oh.”

 

The room was silent for a moment save for their heavy breathing and the beeping of the machines. Wind whistled through the open window. Yuuri took a moment to notice how quiet the town was. It was the last day of the festival, and it should have been alive outside. But there was silence. No cheers, no loud music, no laughter.

 

“Everyone saw.”

 

Yurio’s voice pulled him back. The boy was looking at him again. “What?”

 

“When we were being pulled out. Everyone in the crowd saw Viktor in the flames. Everyone saw the flowers. I heard them all talking about it while they got us into the ambulance.”

 

Yuuri knew that on some level, he should have been worried about it. Viktor had wanted to keep his existence a secret, and he hadn’t known completely why. But he’d respected it, and told Phichit to keep it a secret when he had figured it out too. He gave Viktor the chance to be a human between them, to walk the festival as an onlooker and not the object and reason for it. They’d hidden in plain sight.

 

But only for a few days. Yuuri had known that such a big secret couldn’t stay hidden for long, one way or another, but he wished it hadn’t happened like this. He knew he should have been worried about the questions that were soon to come, the whole town begging to know the whole story. They’d want to know why he kept it a secret, how they had come to know one another, and then they’d search for more in the woods.

 

On some level, he knew he needed to worry about it. It had been such a big problem before. But now it didn’t mean anything. They could have their answers. Yuuri would tell them a thousand different ways if it meant Viktor would be alright.

 

“Yuuri, are you okay?”

 

It was the first time in a long time that Yuuri had heard Yurio sound like the child he still was, caught between young and an adult. Not even during the fire had he sounded so young.

 

“I’m fine,” Yuuri replied, the familiar words rolling off his tongue with ease.

 

“Was he important to you?”

 

Important was putting it mildly. There would never be a word for how important Viktor was, just as there would never be a word for how beautiful. “I loved him.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Yuuri turned back to Yurio, shaking his head. “It wasn’t your fault-”

 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Yurio interrupted. “Someone as mythical as him doesn’t just die off in a fire. I’m sure he’s just resting somewhere, maybe even in your house waiting for you, or he’s going to come rushing into the room when he finds out which one we’re in.”

 

Yuuri gave him a watery smile, all the while keeping his thoughts to himself. Because as much as he wanted to believe it, he couldn’t. He’d seen how all of Viktor’s petals had caught light, how they’d fallen to the floor with such grace.

 

“And when you next see him, tell him thanks,” Yurio continued. “Thanks for saving us.”

 

Something about the way Yurio had said it, the way his voice cracked on the last few words, had Yuuri crying again. Neither said anything for a long time while Yuuri cried out his frustration and heartbreak, the image playing over and over again. And if Yuuri noticed Yurio crying too, then he didn’t say anything.

 

***

 

They both fell asleep at some time during their silence. When Yuuri woke again, his eyes and throat were less sore. It was dark outside, the pale lights of the street lamps looming into the room.

 

Phichit and Yurio’s grandfather sat in the space between their beds, quietly conversing. They stopped when Yuuri pushed himself to sit.

 

Phichit immediately placed a bottle of water into his hands, urging him to drink with quiet words.

 

“Your family are talking with the doctor outside,” he said, taking the bottle away when Yuuri had had enough. “Mari was going ape-shit with the council, demanding to know why an open canister was left in the garage.”

 

Yuuri coughed away the phlegm that had risen in his sleep, the water helping to wash it away. “You did say something had been forgotten.”

 

“I told the council to get rid of it when the fire-eater cancelled. I told them a thousand times.”

 

“This is why you should be on the council,” Yuuri joked, trying to make light of it when inside he felt nothing but pain.

 

“I’d run this town better singlehandedly,” Phichit agreed. There was a pause before he whispered, “Yuuri, I’m so sorry about what happened to Viktor.”

 

Yuuri nodded, thanking the other man, though the words sounded hollow. He wasn’t sure why he had said it. Phichit made to say something else, but Yuuri said, “I don’t really want to talk about it right now, Phichit.”

 

His best friend, his ever understanding best friend, nodded and said nothing more. Instead, he told Yuuri about how the garage had been cleared and inspected, cut off. The council were trying to figure out what to do with it, and Phichit joked how it would collapse by itself before they came to a conclusion.

 

His parents came in soon after, his mother pulling him to her chest and hugging him as she used to do years ago. She soothed her hand through his hair, humming and old lullaby that used to calm him, and his dad told him what the doctors had said. No damage, just some sooty lungs for a while. He’d be coughing black for the next few weeks, but nothing serious. His sister was standing beside him seething with barely contained anger, not daring to speak too much for fear she’d scream.

 

Yurio’s grandfather spoke about how he’d be giving Yurio and Yuuri free pancakes for the foreseeable future, of how they’d continue to search for Potya once Yurio was out of the hospital.

 

No one spoke of Viktor, no more talk of the fire, or how the festival had come to a sudden end. Instead, they spoke of mundane things, of how the Flower Royal had thrown their crowns into the crowd and almost knocked someone out. The float had been beautiful, the florist having made a cloud of blue roses. Most of the birds that had been hired to be released for the beginning had painted the floor with droppings. The local farmer, infamous for his drunk ramblings, had attempted to climb the float to get a better view of the parade and was taken off then by the festival security.

 

Yuuri spent most of his hospital visit sleeping until his skin wasn’t as pale as it had been, until the bags under his eyes were reduced. Yurio recovered much faster than him, running around the room the next morning, proclaiming how bored he was. He wanted to be out and looking for his cat, who had slept on the streets for the night. She’d done so before, but Yurio still worried.

 

It was in the afternoon of the next day that they were released. The doctors made sure that the soot hadn’t done any damage to their lungs, that they could breathe with as much ease as they had before. Yurio set to the streets as soon as he could with his grandfather, calling Potya’s name.

 

Yuuri walked home by himself. His family had offered to come with him, but Yuuri had mentioned how he needed the time alone to think. Really, he wanted to be there alone for if Viktor was waiting for him. He’d open the door, and there would be Viktor, preparing something to eat in his bid to learn cooking.

 

Despite knowing that the petals had all burned, and Viktor would have been in the hospital if he was alright, he couldn’t help but hope. But his home was quiet and dark when he arrived, nothing touched. Though he had expected it, it made his chest ache.

 

Mari and Phichit had said they’d sleep over with him that night to make sure he was alright. It would be the first night since the fire he was alone, and they hadn’t wanted that.

 

They’d be arriving in an hour, enough time for him to sit and think alone.

 

He collapsed on the sofa, having turned on only one light, and stared at the fireplace. His eyes couldn’t help but catch the figure sitting on the mantelpiece, where Viktor had left it.

 

***

 

Yuuri stayed in his home for three days, taking steps out only to tend to his garden. His family and friends bought him food if he needed it. Phichit still stayed with him each night, despite Yuuri insisting that he was fine. Mari had to go and tend to the bath house with their parents, but returned every morning when it was quietest to see how Yuuri was. His parents joined when they could, but called him every day.

 

There had been some others that called at his door, some he didn’t let in. People he never spoke to beyond familiar greeting, who had heard or seen the supernatural being in the flames and wanted answers from him. Some made their intentions known, others feigned friendship or worry over his health to get to him. Phichit kicked them from his door before Yuuri really knew that they were there.

 

Chris visited every day with a cup of steaming coffee. He’d only asked how Yuuri was, but had noticed the surprising lack of Viktor in the house. He’d not asked that. He’d not asked why Yuuri’s eyes strayed to the figure above the fire every few minutes, why the clothes that they had bought Viktor were sitting on the living room table where they had left it days ago, or why Viktor’s clothes that needed washing were still resting on the washing machine. Chris wasn’t stupid. He could figure out why Viktor seemed so close to the description of the flower man that had saved the two Yuris, and why he was missing. And he was smart to not ask.

 

No one asked how Yuuri was. For that he was thankful. He didn’t know how to express it to himself, let alone others. He’d never fallen so hard, in love and in heartbreak. He’d been in relationships before, but nothing had ever felt as strong as this.

 

On the third day, Yurio visited with his grandfather. Yuuri’s house happened to be busy that morning, both of his parents and his sister over during the quieter times as the tourists explored the forest, Phichit and Chris visiting too. His house was more lively than it had been in a very long time, but there would always be something missing.

 

In Yurio’s arm was his cat, fluffy and looking grumpy at being carried. A pet bandage was wrapped around her paw, and her tail swished hard against his stomach.

 

“She came back,” Yurio informed, trying to keep the smile from his lips. “The little shit had me worrying for ages.”

 

Yuuri stroked the cat, his fingers lacing between soft fur. “Caused a lot of trouble, you did,” he chuckled. In the three days he’d come to terms with what had happened, it sounded less hollow. Smiles didn’t have to be so faked, but they didn’t reach his eyes.

 

“I didn’t even want a cat,” the teen said. But he stared down at Potya with sparkling eyes, and Yuuri knew it was quite the opposite.

 

“Is she alright?” he asked.

 

“Completely fine. Just some scratch marks. Took her to the vet and they gave her an injection to make sure she doesn’t get infected.” The relief was clear in his expression.

 

Yurio let the cat down, watched as it prowled around Yuuri’s house sniffing at the unfamiliar things, then he pushed Yuuri until he was sitting in the middle of his sofa before the television. Phichit sat next to him with microwaved popcorn, Chris sat on the other side, and without much encouragement all the other visitors in his house did the same.

 

Though no one had come out and told him straight that they were looking after him, he knew it was what they were doing. Phichit said he hadn’t slept over for a long time and it was the perfect excuse, but Yuuri knew it was because Yuuri would be missing the body next to him in bed – to go from living with someone to alone again would make it much harder to adapt.

 

He’d come to realise their caring style in the last three days. None asked how he was doing, but they all catered to him. They walked the house as if it was theirs, and they moved him to tables for meals or the sofa as they did now to watch something. They didn’t ask if he wanted to do it, they made him. On some level, he knew he should have been annoyed. Though he was suffering, he wasn’t numb. He was aware of himself. But on another level, he was thankful. He didn’t have to think about what to do next, or to think of a new distraction for himself. They provided that for him. They provided a new routine for him.

 

Yuuri knew what they wanted to ask, especially his family. He knew they weren’t stupid either, and though they hadn’t met Viktor, they had seen him and heard of him. By now, they knew what was going on, he had no doubt.

 

His sister put on a film, one that they had none of them had seen, and they found places to sit. Yurio sat before him and with a grumble, pulled Yuuri’s hand until it was running through the blond locks. Yuuri barely contained his gasp, but tried his best. Yurio hadn’t asked for someone to play with his hair for years, thinking it was childish. Yuuri had mentioned more than once how he missed doing it.

 

Halfway through, his parents needed to leave to ready for lunch. His sister stayed for the remainder of the film before she needed to leave too, rooms needing to be cleaned before check-ins in the afternoon.

 

As time passed, Chris needed to leave to tend to his café, and Yurio and his grandfather left too. It was just Yuuri and Phichit left, the house settling into quiet again. To create some noise, Phichit played some music on his computer, singing with it even if he knew he couldn’t sing some of the notes.

 

Yuuri wasn’t sure where it came from. In the last three days, he’d been able to refrain from crying. But as his eyes found the figure again, Viktor’s unwashed clothes on the washing machine, new outfits on the table, and the blue crown that settled on the bedside table, he found his chest heaving again. He bent forwards until he could place his face in his hands, and felt the tears cascade down his cheeks again. Phichit hugged him close and rubbed his back until the tears faded away and Yuuri could breathe. Without asking if he was alright, knowing the answer, Phichit made him some tea and encouraged him to drink it.

 

***

 

It was the fourth day that Yuuri put Viktor’s things away. The figure and the crown stayed just as the man had left them, too meaningful for Yuuri to move just yet. But he placed Viktor’s used clothes in the washing, and made room in his closet and drawers to put the clothes Viktor had yet to wear. At the back of his mind, he knew it was probably best to be rid of them.

 

But the truth was he still held the hope the man would return. He’d seen the petals burn, but he couldn’t help the feeling.

 

Phichit watched from where he sat on the bed as Yuuri cleared room and carefully hung up the clothes and folded for the drawers. Not a word was spoken, just the sound of the hangers on metal filling the space. If he asked, Yuuri wasn’t sure if Phichit would tell him if this was a good idea or not. He didn’t know if his best friend thought it best to chuck them out or to leave them. But he didn’t ask. Maybe in a few weeks, months, years he would gather the courage and the distance to be able to throw them away. But right now he needed them close. He needed the reminder.

 

Viktor’s smell still lingered in the air. Or it could have been the flowers he had still resting in his office with his crowns. Perhaps that was one of the hardest things, Yuuri thought. Viktor didn’t have a different scent for him to remember, and any time he made crowns would always remind him.

 

It would get easier, he knew. It always got easier. More bearable. Never smaller, never gone, and he would always suffer. But it would become easier to deal. Maybe some day he would be able to hike to the waterfall and rest in the little alcove without falling apart at the thought.

 

After he finished putting the clothes away, he sat on the backdoor step and watched the forest as the darkness began to settle in the horizon. He wasn’t sure when it had become habit, just somewhere in the time he had been at home he spent an hour or so staring out into the forest. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt compelled. As if something told him Viktor would come strolling down the path like nothing had happened.

 

He didn’t, though. But Yuuri kept doing it.

 

Sometimes Phichit joined him, sitting quietly beside him. Sometimes he’d say nothing, and sometimes he’d engage Yuuri in a conversation. Yuuri would reply eagerly, as if to fill the space.

 

On this fourth day. Phichit did just that. He sat beside him, stretching out his legs to rest his heels on the stone path, arms back to lean against.

 

The trees rustled in the breeze. The sky was stained red and pink as the sun set, peeking over the tops of the trees. Birds swarmed the sky before settling down. At the end of the path, the darkness of the forest swallowed any view.

 

Yuuri took a deep breath and said what had been on his mind for days, but had never come out. “Thank you,” he told his best friend, knowing the words would never be enough.

 

Phichit was quiet for a second. “You don’t need to say it,” he said gently. “I’ll always help you.”

 

“Thank you still. I don’t know how I would have been if it hadn’t been for you and the others.”

 

“You’d have been fine. You’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

 

Yuuri said nothing. He doubted it. In his own eyes, he had always been weak. But he also knew he didn’t quite see himself as others did, as the majority did. So he said nothing. He wanted to thank Phichit again, but having said it twice, Yuuri didn’t want to overuse it.

 

“You’re going to be alright, you know,” Phichit whispered after a minute. “I’m not just saying that, and I’m not saying it to make you so, either. You really are. I’ve seen you these last few days.”

 

“I’ve been a mess.”

 

“You’ve been open. You’re not keeping it in, and you know that’s a good thing.”

 

Yuuri hugged his knees closer. The breeze and the darkness began to creep in with a chill, biting at the exposed flesh of his arms and ankles.

 

“I really loved him, Phichit,” he admitted. The words caught in his chest, a sob striking him. This time he didn’t cry. Not because he had already cried it out, but because it was already becoming easier to control. “I know it was only a few days but I still can’t help it.”

 

Phichit rubbed his lower back. “I know, Yuuri. I know.”

 

As he thought about it, all the worries of the previous days crashed forwards. “What do we even do? How do we even know which petals are his? That’s if they… if they haven’t b-burned away. Can we even have a funeral?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“And what if he isn’t dead? What if he’s far off somewhere, hurt, and I’m sitting here moping? What if he’s angry because of my stupidity? I should have checked. I was probably the one that tipped the petrol. I was looking around there.”

 

“Yuuri, don’t start blaming yourself.”

 

Yuuri stared out into the forest. He’d told Yurio to never blame himself, and he really felt it. Yuuri didn’t blame himself entirely, because he knew that if he hadn’t been there with the teen… perhaps no one would have known. Perhaps it would have been too late. But he blamed himself a little, because he knew he had been around the petrol when checking, but couldn’t remember it. Had he tipped it over? Or had it been the both of them? He didn’t know, but in his time of thinking, he couldn’t help but let the blame fall on himself.

 

“Come on, Yuuri, let’s go to sleep,” Phichit urged when the hour had come and gone. He helped Yuuri up, smiling gently. “We can have a pillow fight if you want, even make a blanket fort?”

 

Yuuri found himself smiling back, unable to stop himself. He caught himself from refusing it, thinking how perhaps something fun could help. He gave a slow nod and said, “Yeah, let’s try making a fort.”

 

And tomorrow would be a new day. He would fight until then, and continue to fight until it didn’t hurt as much. Until it became only an ache than bone crushing. Until Viktor was a beautiful memory that he would always remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First thing to say is... I promise I put in the "Happy ending" tag for a reason! haha Everything will be okay! :D Just some drama and angst because I love to create it XD 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Only two left now... By this time next week, it's going to be done... wow! I think it's only been little over a month, maybe even just under two... I think that might be the fastest I've written a 60K+ story before... Having a schedule is really helping with my issue of commitment, who'd have known? haha 
> 
> As always, if you want to find me, my tumblr is 
> 
> [here](https://lanaberryrawr.tumblr.com/)


	9. Peony

It was one of those days.

 

A week had passed since the fire. Some of the curious townsfolk had stopped coming to his door, knowing that they would be turned away. Viktor’s clothes had been washed and dried and put away in the closet space dedicated to him. His crown still rested on the side of the bed. Yuuri’s home was filled again.

 

His mother had made katsudon for the visitors. Yurio had brought his gaming console and was battling Phichit on some game Yuuri hadn’t heard of. Chris was talking to his sister in the kitchen, both with steaming cups of tea in their hands. His parents flitted around the house to make sure he was taking proper care of himself.

 

Yuuri was putting some of his clothes on the line outside, his eyes occasionally glancing up towards the forest.

 

It was one of those days. Again.

 

His grief came in stages. There would be some days where he didn’t want to get out of bed, others where he was aware of reality. Others where he wanted to take out anger on everything in his house, snap at people, break things. Then there were other days where the fire had felt like a dream, a nightmare, one he had woken from. Days where he expected Viktor to come strolling from the woods as if nothing had happened.

 

A week after the nightmare, it was one of those days. Every time the branches waved, his head spun to the woods, heart skipping a beat. At the back of his mind he knew it wouldn’t happen, but every single second his imagination played images of it happening.

 

On these days he was less depressed than others. He felt a little more like himself, and he wondered if this would help. He could chat and laugh. There was a nervous energy that slipped through him, his body constantly twitching. He’d confided in his mother about it one day over the phone, when he worried there was something wrong.

 

She had been the one to tell him grief had stages, and those stages meant different things for different people. He wondered if holding onto the idea that Viktor would come back was a bad thing, but his mother had denied that. Keep his memory alive, she had said. She didn’t often reference the Russian, not having met him. But he had told her how much Viktor made him happy – _had_ made him happy – and now his mother adopted the departed man as if Yuuri and Viktor had been married.

 

As Yuuri pinned up a sheet, the shadows moved. His head snapped up again, but it was only a bird flying from the underbrush. On these days, he didn’t feel disheartened when Viktor didn’t show. Rather, he could almost chuckle about it and think of how Viktor would show himself once he did. Odd, he thought, how his brain worked. On his darker days, he wondered how desperate he was.

 

It was on one of these days that he had cleaned the figure Viktor loved. Dust had begun to settle, and his heart ached. At the time, he hadn’t known why, just that he needed to clean it. He was careful not to touch it, as if he would taint it. At the time, he still didn’t know why. Chris had been watching then, giving him a gentle smile when he’d finished cleaning. And then he had settled Yuuri onto the kitchen bar chairs and they talked about a new recipe Chris wanted to try for the café.

 

His visitors stayed the whole day, filling the once empty cottage with noise and chatter. Yuuri found himself getting used to it, wanting it desperately to continue. Phichit had asked if Yuuri still wanted him to sleep over, and Yuuri found himself clinging to his best friend to keep him there. He’d almost begged, just because he didn’t want the quiet to return. He used to want his cottage to be his quiet place, where he could do his crowns in his own time. Now he wanted nothing more than to have his lively friends and family to stay forever.

 

The quiet left him alone to think. He wasn’t ready to do that, not yet. It had only been a week.

 

As the sun began to set on the seventh day, his parents and sister bid farewell to tend to the tourists in the bath house. They promised to be back in the morning, with new baking goodies to share about.

 

Chris and Yurio hadn’t said anything about their plans that night, but Yuuri suspected they planned to stay over if their bags were any indication. As the darkness settled outside and it became low enough for him to switch on the lights, they settled on the sofa to watch a television programme that Phichit had wanted to see. Yurio grumbled the whole way through, but urged to watch the second. Something about ice skating, a sport Yuuri hadn’t really thought about before. But he was immediately captured by the grace of the skaters on the ice.

 

Once they’d finished the first few episodes, he fell into his routine. He stood and opened the back door, gazing out into the gloom, feeling the chill of the air against the red skin of his cheeks. He heard the others conversing behind him, Phichit saying how Yuuri had been doing this every night. Yurio asked if he was alright, and Phichit replied he’d be done in an hour.

 

Chris brought him another warm cup of tea, his hundredth cup of the day or what seemed like it. This one tasted of strawberries, sparking his taste buds as drops landed on his tongue. Phichit gave him a thick blanket and sat beside him.

 

On days like this, it was easy to sit and watch the trees. Every movement was something hopeful, the path at the end framing Viktor’s return perfectly. He hadn’t walked down yet, but on days like this, Yuuri held out the hope he would. On bad days, Yuuri would tear up as he stared, knowing it wouldn’t happen but never knowing why he continued the routine.

 

“She was fucking ignorant,” Yurio hissed in a whisper to Chris behind him, talking about a tourist he had encountered earlier in the day. “She thought the town was just her play thing. Like a whole fucking drama production.”

 

“She was probably just curious,” Chris replied, whispering just as lowly and not knowing also how it carried their way. “A lot of people have hounded you for answers.”

 

“I don’t care, I’m not giving them anything. It’s none of their business what Viktor was.”

 

Phichit hushed them, a comforting hand on Yuuri’s arm. But Yuuri ignored it. He knew that just as he had been badgered by locals and tourists, Yurio would have been too. They were both labelled as the people saved by Blodeuwedd herself, rising from flowers and fire. Not that they knew the reality. Yuuri had heard his friends whisper when they thought he wasn’t listening, how some of the locals dubbed them as treasures now, favoured by the very centre myth of their town.

 

Yuuri certainly felt treasured. But only by Viktor. He only ever wanted to be treasured by Viktor, and he had been. Allowing him into his world, showing his own, captured seconds between them. Yurio was right. What Viktor was wasn’t any business of anyone else’s.

 

The trees rustled again and despite himself, he felt his heart skip a beat. His eyes zoned in on the space, Chris’ and Yurio’s voices melting away. The shadows danced under the moon light. Branches moved aside.

 

He had imaged Viktor walking down that path a hundred – no, a thousand times by now. A hundred thousand times. He poured all his hope into it. But even on days like this, where it became easier to believe, the doubt was always stronger. He knew what he had seen in that fire.

 

And yet his breath caught in his throat when he noticed petals beginning to stir, captured in the air in a way the wind wasn’t blowing. As if they had a mind of their own.

 

The forest was dark, and so he couldn’t tell if it was a figure he saw tearing itself away from the darkness, or the shadows cast by the clouds in the night sky.

 

His heart hammered in his throat, and he watched as the shadows moved closer to the bright path light cast by the moon. He slowly stood up, capturing the eyes of the three men in his house. His gaze was glued to the sight, blood chilling in his veins.

 

And when an unmistakeable foot stepped from the darkness, illuminated on the path, he watched. The darkness was torn from the figure with every step, until the whole body was visible.

 

Viktor looked much like how he had shown himself to Yuuri that second time. Naked, covered in petals and flowers, just as beautiful and breath-taking, just as striking. His hair was still short, his skin still pale, his body whole. Every limb there, petals bright and blooming, eyes as blue as the day Yuuri had thought he lost him.

 

“Oh. My. God,” Phichit whispered beside him, still sitting down.

 

Yuuri hadn’t heard though. All he could hear was Viktor, Viktor who called his name and had the wind carry it to Yuuri’s back door. He could hear his own heart beat violently in his chest, his own gasps, his own sniffs as he felt the tears beginning to roll down his skin.

 

He was running up his path before he realised. The distance between them was far too long, and he wanted nothing more than to be in the arms of the man he thought he had lost forever.

 

It occurred to him this might have been a dream. A cruel image in his mind from a week of grief. But those doubts were cut and thrown away when he flung himself into Viktor’s arms. Viktor was just as warm as he remembered, as solid, as real as ever. At the assurance, he buried himself in the man’s chest, crying over his skin but not finding the will to care. He sighed in relief when Viktor’s arms pulled him in just as tightly. Viktor’s hair tickled the side of his face, and his tears rolled with Yuuri’s.

 

He’d been so worried, seen the way the fire roared, turning his beautiful petals to ashes. He’d seen the way Viktor’s desperate face had been engulfed, how their eyes had connected just before the flames burned higher.

 

He cleaned back, cupping Viktor’s face in his hands. His expression was just as longing as he suspected his own was, tears sparkling down his cheeks, eyelashes catching some drops. He pulled at the man until their foreheads pressed together. His whole body was shaking from the force of his relief and disbelief.

 

“Where were you?” he sobbed, his hands trembling on either side of Viktor’s face. “It’s been a week, Viktor! I thought you were gone for good.”

 

Viktor mimicked his action, soothing Yuuri’s cheeks with his thumbs. He whispered, “I’m so sorry. It was close, Yuuri. I thought… I really did think I was gone too. My flowers were so damaged, Yuuri. I hid in the woods to heal, and for days I thought I’d die before I could.”

 

The words made Yuuri sob harder. He’d worried about it, had thought that Viktor might be hurt and scared in the woods. He should have searched, he thought, not realising he’d said it aloud.

 

“No, no, Yuuri,” Viktor whispered. “I’m here now. I healed. I’m fine.” He took one of Yuuri’s hands and placed it over his naked chest, allowing Yuuri to feel the racing beats of his living heart under his palm. “Every single day I thought of you. Even when I thought I’d die, I knew I had to make it back to you.”

 

“How did you…? I saw… The petals, Viktor. They were all…” he babbled, unsure how to make his thoughts more coherent.

 

Viktor pressed a kiss to his nose. “I’m made of flowers, remember? I can make more when some have burned away or died.” He chuckled, his smile big and bright even as his tears still dropped. “I’m magic, Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri was caught between laughter and the anger inside of him that had remained nestled during the week. Viktor shouldn’t have come to them, he had thought. The man knew he was more vulnerable to fire, and yet he had done it. And it was also why Yuuri couldn’t be angry. In saving Yuuri, Viktor had also saved Yurio. He could never be angry at that. So he wrapped his arms around Viktor’s middle instead and buried his face into the man’s chest, inhaling his unique scent, something no other small could ever mimic. Tears streamed down his face.

 

Viktor hugged him just as tightly, as if he too was scared Yuuri would vanish. “You’re never doing that again, Viktor,” he whispered into the man’s skin. “You’re never vanishing again.”

 

“As long as you don’t scare me like that again,” Viktor replied, voice cracking.  

 

A chill swept through the garden, and Yuuri shivered. Underneath his touch, he felt Viktor tremble against the cool as well. “Come inside,” Yuuri ushered. He leaned back, clutched at Viktor’s hand until their fingers were intertwined, and began to pull him down the path without room to hesitate. But Viktor never pulled away. His hand squeezed Yuuri’s reassuringly.

 

Yurio, Chris and Phichit were watching from the back door, staring without shame. Yuuri almost felt a small chuckle trying to bubble from his chest, but he weighed it down. He’d explain to them later, answer their questions later. But now was not the time. He urged Viktor into the warmth and pushed him into his room, showing him where Yuuri had hung up Viktor’s clothes.

 

Viktor gave one small smile when he noticed his own space, and it crossed Yuuri’s mind that in this week, Viktor might have thought Yuuri would throw the things out. No point in keeping the clothes of a dead man, Viktor had thought. But Yuuri was glad he had kept them, despite the pitying stares his friends and family had sent his way. Yuuri watched as he changed, too taken by Viktor’s appearance to feel ashamed by his staring. He wanted to keep touching the man, keeping reminding himself that this was real.

 

Once Viktor was changed into some of the leisure wear they’d bought him, still crisp and unused, they walked back into the living room. Viktor collapsed onto the sofa, still seemingly knackered from whatever healing he had been through in the past week. He pulled on Yuuri’s middle until the smaller man was sitting in his lap, cuddled closely. Yuuri relaxed himself against him, secure and happy now that Viktor was so close.

 

Petals still donned Viktor’s skin, peeling from his cheeks and the hands stroking through Yuuri’s hair. Chris and Phichit sat in some of the spare chairs beside them, eyes still staring at Viktor, while Yurio stood with his mouth gaping.

 

The silence stretched for a while. Yuuri knew the others had many questions that they wanted to ask, and he was fine with them doing so. But it was Viktor had was the object of their curiosity, it would be up to him. But they asked nothing for a very long time. Words were forming carefully in their minds, hesitant over the sensitivity. Unsurprisingly, it was Yurio that broke that silence.

 

“I thought flower people were meant to be pretty.”

 

Yuuri could barely contain his laugher as he hid his face in the junction between Viktor’s shoulder and neck. He could feel Viktor’s body shake too, a tell-tale difference between his sobbing and laughter. He was warm under Yuuri, something he hadn’t realised just how much he had missed.

 

“And did you really have to come here naked?” Yurio continued, throwing himself down on the other side of the sofa, arms crossed and trying to look nonchalant. But his gaze flickered to the corner of his eye every few seconds, to where Viktor sat, unable to contain himself.

 

“I didn’t have any clothes,” Viktor replied, pressing his smile into Yuuri’s hair.

 

“Can’t you cover parts with your flowers?”

 

“I didn’t really think about it. We don’t have the same hang-ups about being naked as you do.”

 

“You live here now, you follow the rules.”

 

Yuuri felt his heart beat at that. Living here. Viktor living here with him. That sounded nice. He didn’t know Viktor’s plans, they’d never, ever spoken about them. He’d considered that Viktor wanted to stay after they confessed to one another. Now, after a week without the man, he could not let him go. Living together, to fill the once empty cottage together, made his heart soar. He wanted more of Viktor around the house than there already was – more than just the figure on the mantelpiece, more of their clothes to share the space of the bedroom. He wanted for Viktor to have a side to the bed, to have books and DVDs littering the place, to have pictures together, to hang up ones in frames, to have a life together.

 

They’d need to talk about it. He knew that. It wasn’t good to leave something open ended, otherwise things could be assumed. A wrong conclusion could be drawn. But right now he was happy to cuddle into Viktor’s chest and feel his arms wrap around him, a feeling he never thought he’d get back.

 

“So, can you really make flowers?” Yurio muttered, looking away, as if embarrassed by the question.

 

Viktor raised one of his hands, opening the palm up to the ceiling. From his palm grew a small daisy, sprouting from his skin quickly. It reached towards the light of the bulb above, mistaking it for the sun.

 

“Is that all?” Yurio asked.

 

Viktor laughed and took the challenge. He moved Yuuri until he could open both of his palms to the ceiling. Yuuri turned to watch as a bouquet of flowers grew from his palms, mostly of red and pink roses, some orange sprouting between the leaves, thorns cutting through the stems.

 

Yurio watched as his mouth gaped open again, eyes unable to tear themselves away.

 

Chris was watching with raised eyebrows that almost disappeared into his small fringe, eyes blinking every few seconds to assure himself that this was real.

 

Phichit huffed, hand almost reaching for his pocket. “You’ll never need to buy or grow flowers in your garden again, Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri took the bouquet from Viktor’s hands, holding them closer, smelling the tinged scent in the air. He’d been covered in flowers before, and never much thought about it. Flowers had meant work for him, something that was once beautiful, but changed meaning. Now, with Viktor, he never wanted to be somewhere where not a single flower bloomed. He hugged it until it rested underneath his chin, ignoring that Phichit finally reached for his phone and snapped a quick photo. Viktor soothed a hand through his hair, the other placing at his hip.

 

Yuuri soon found himself falling asleep. His lids began to slip, his ears drifting in and out from the sound of the house. He was aware of them all asking Viktor more questions, Yurio more than anyone, Chris preferring to observe. But he wasn’t aware of what those questions were. The words floated through one ear and out of the other, never settling in his understanding. Viktor’s heart beat steadily underneath his head, his breath ghosting over Yuuri’s forehead, kisses pressed to his crown. He fell asleep before he realised it, the grief of the last week finally catching up with him.

 

***

 

When he woke, it was to the most beautiful view that he had ever seen.

 

He was facing Viktor in their bed. The light of the curtains seeped in to perfectly frame Viktor’s face, catching his pale skin, illuminating his light hair and eyelashes. His full lips were opened in a small snore, his breath hovering over Yuuri’s collarbone, his arm hanging over Yuuri’s waist. He was holding Yuuri closer, his grip tight even in sleep. His fringe tickled Yuuri’s nose and he refrained from giggling.

 

In the kitchen, he heard some noise as the three men began to wake. He didn’t know what time it was, but he knew that Chris was an early riser. He was probably rising from his make-shift bed on the floor and making himself a coffee for the morning, in turn waking up Phichit and Yurio.

 

Yuuri ran his knuckles over Viktor’s cheek bones, his soft cheeks smooth under his touch. Yuuri could almost cry seeing this view, something he had taken advantage of before. He never would again. Without being able to stop himself, he slowly drew closer, pressing a light kiss to Viktor’s lips.

 

Just as it had done the first time they kissed, his body trembled, his heart lifted, every cliché he had ever heard of love coming to life. The light seemed to ebb brighter, the smile unable to be contained on his lips, and he could see himself doing this for forever.

 

He pulled away and saw Viktor lightly blinking open his tired eyes, the striking blue honing in on Yuuri as soon as they could. Yuuri felt himself warm at the gaze. Any attention from Viktor was exactly what he wanted. He felt his heart skip a beat when the other man graced him with a smile, beaming brightly.

 

Viktor’s arm tightened on his waist, drawing Yuuri closer.

 

“Morning,” he greeted, his voice groggy.

 

Yuuri replied, “Morning to you too.”

 

They stared at one another for a while, spending a week’s worth of gazing in the short time that they could. They explored one another’s features with their eyes, memorising everything that they had taken advantage of before. After a few minutes, Yuuri decided to claim the kisses he had missed for the time they had been apart. He leaned in again, enjoying the tingle that only Viktor could give him. He cupped the man’s face and pressed kisses all over Viktor’s face, beginning with his forehead and trailing down his eyes, the bridge of his nose, the tip, his cheeks, chin, jaw bone, and finally his lips. He spent the most time there, tasting Viktor’s lips.

 

Viktor turned them until he was lightly hovering over Yuuri, the smaller man trapped between his elbows. Viktor returned the favour, kissing every inch of skin on Yuuri’s face, making him giggle under the attention.

 

They both wanted to wake up every morning like this. Every morning for forever, until they tired of it – both knew that that day would never come. Yuuri wrapped his arms around Viktor’s neck, drawing him closer until their bodies met.

 

He pulled away as the thought occurred to him, knowing they needed to talk about it. He wanted to ask if Viktor wanted to move in – even though he doubted Viktor had much to move that wasn’t already here. He wanted to ask if he wanted to live with him, but it came out desperate as he thought about it. “You’re going to stay here, right?” He flinched at his own tone.

 

Viktor pressed a kiss to his cheek in assurance. “If you’ll have me,” Viktor replied. “Otherwise, you’ll never be rid of me.”

 

“I mean, would you like to live together?” Yuuri corrected.

 

Viktor leaned back a little, weighing the words. It didn’t take long, not when he had the answer in his mind long before Yuuri had asked. “And my answer stays the same. If you’ll have me, and you’ll never be rid of me. You’ve already moved my things in for me.”

 

Yuuri blushed. “I didn’t think you’d want me to just hang your things from the branches of the woods.”

 

“No, who knows what would have gotten to them,” Viktor chuckled. He leaned forwards until their foreheads touched, gazes glued to one another. “Living with you, Yuuri… having a home? Nothing would make me happier.”

 

“Oh? I’ll take that as a challenge.” Yuuri promised himself that he would strive to make Viktor happier every day. Moving in wouldn’t be where it ended.

 

Unbeknown to him, Viktor was making the same promise in his head, to always care for Yuuri, treat him like the hero he probably didn’t see himself as, to make his life just as colourful as he had made Viktor’s.

 

They pressed another kiss to one another, growing hungrier by the second. Everything slipped away and all Yuuri knew was Viktor, all he could see, hear or smell was Viktor. He’d always underestimated what love was before. But now he fully understood how it could change people.

 

A knock crashed against the door. “Stop whatever the fuck you’re doing in there and come make breakfast,” Yurio grumbled. “I don’t know where you keep stuff.”

 

Yuuri rolled his eyes and gave Viktor one last quick kiss before he threw the covers from his form.

 

The three were waiting in the kitchen, setting out plates for the breakfast on the table. It was large, bought with the idea that Yuuri could host many people over for meals when he first moved it. It had never been used to all its capabilities. Yuuri never had as much time as he would have liked, not after setting up his career. But now he watched as almost every seat was filled, voices ringing out in the air, a warm house.

 

He stood in the kitchen and began to set up breakfast, listening to Yurio as he demanded pancakes.

 

“Have you not had enough of those with your grandfather?” he asked the teen.

 

“He never lets me eat them, not until he’s finished with his experiments,” Yurio grumbled. He sat at the island and watched Yuuri pour the mix into the pan, it sizzling over the butter.

 

Once the table had been set up, Phichit was explaining to Chris how to play a shooter game. Pointing out the buttons, ushering his character closer to the rewards, to hide as the zombies came crashing through the walls. As Viktor stepped into the room, clad in one of his new outfits, Phichit turned to him.

 

“Do you want to try?”

 

Viktor’s eyebrows knitted together, eyes gazing over the clash of colours on the screen. “Try what?”

 

“Playing a game. You’ve not done it before, right?” At Viktor’s shake of his head, Phichit pulled him down onto the sofa and pushed the spare controller into his hands.

 

The doorbell rang and Yuuri urged Yurio to open it. The boy did, but only after a few words of complaint. “It’s your house.” He glanced through the window before opening it.

 

His parents and sister stood on the other side, their expressions conflicted as they noticed the changes even from outside. They heard the laughter, the ease in the air. As the door opened, they saw the plates on the table, one more than there had been for the last few days, Yuuri cooking in the kitchen with a bright smile on his face and humming a song under his breath. Mari saw Viktor first. Her eyes slipped to the sofa, gluing to the back of his silver head. Then his parents saw, muttering something in Japanese.

 

“Yurio, could you get three more plates out, please?” Yuuri couldn’t contain the smile, knowing that it would fill the table, every chair taken. It hadn’t ever happened before, and something about it excited him. A full house. Warmth from every corner. No silence. No time to be alone. “Come in,” he greeted them. “We were just going to have breakfast.”

 

They walked in slowly, still staring at Viktor as the man battled Chris in the game. They both leaned forwards, gripping the controllers tightly in their hands. Phichit was the most frustrated though, barking orders to the both of them, all the while snapping quick photos of the both.

 

“This is Viktor,” Yuuri greeted. “Viktor, this is my parents and my sister.”

 

Viktor quickly turned, eyes finding Yuuri first before he turned to his family with a big, bright grin. “Pleasure to meet you!” In the background, his character screamed as a zombie snuck up in his distraction. He turned back with a curse.

 

Yuuri watched as his family turned their questioning gazes to him. He gave them a quick nod, confirming the silent question he saw in their eyes. Not that he needed to. Though Viktor had hidden most of his flowers, petals still clung to his hair. It almost looked as if he had walked through a field of flowers, or some debris from a crown. Yuuri didn’t know why he hadn’t hidden them, perhaps since healing he hadn’t been able to gain complete control again. Or perhaps he was more comfortable than he had been. Yuuri hoped so. He hoped he’d helped some way.

 

Mari went to stand behind the man, playing to see the game but Yuuri knew her reason – she was always his big sister. Regardless of which partner he ever had, she would scope them out first, observe silently and wage her own war, concluding with judgement. Every few seconds, her gaze would snap to him. After a few minutes, she began to ask him questions about the games. Yuuri hid his chuckles behind his hand and asked his parents how the bath house was going.

 

As the festival excitement was beginning to dwindle and the week drew to a close, the tourists were leaving. A few stayed to continue to explore, but the town was slipping back into its quiet season. The clean-up would begin, and then the preparations for the next year to come. Tradition and routine, as it always was in Dewin Oak.

 

The table was a bit of a tight fit with all of them together. If anyone stretched their arms too much, their elbows would hit another. But chatter was ripe, voices mingling until Yuuri couldn’t tell who was speaking to him and who wasn’t. The pile of pancakes was devoured quickly, almost as soon as he set them in the centre of the table, and smiles were common. He could barely contain his own, laughter bubbling out easier than it had done for days. Halfway through the meal, he held Viktor’s hand under the table, feeling assured when Viktor squeezed back.

 

This was what he wanted, something he hadn’t realised how much he needed until recently. His heart was filled to the brim with love, tight in his chest. He wanted to be nowhere else.

 

***

 

The news spread almost as soon as it had been a day since Viktor’s return. They weren’t sure how, no one who knew had spoken of it, but in such a small town things spread. The doorbell rung and the door was knocked, groups of people wanting to see the natural phenomenon in the house.

 

Yuuri kept them at bay. He worried that such an exposure would dampen the mood. He finally had Viktor with him after a week of worry. He didn’t want something like this to drive him back, to upset Viktor the same way that had compelled him to cut off his hair.

 

But Viktor didn’t seem to care.

 

They were alone in the house, and the door knocked for the third time that day. A familiar voice called through the door, one Yuuri pinpointed as the local butcher. He was nosy enough, with a family of a nosy wife and nosy children. Any gossip that there was to pass the town, it passed through them at least once.

 

Yuuri and Viktor sat on the sofa, Viktor lying down with his head in Yuuri’s lap while Yuuri stroked his hand through the man’s hair, picking the petals from the strands He’d pulled the curtains closed, and the room glowed with faded afternoon light. A film played out on the television, something they had just pushed on when Chris, Phichit and Yurio had left. But he wasn’t watching it. He gazed down with a sweet smile at Viktor, feeling his cheeks blush when the man stared up with just as much adoration.

 

The butcher called again, his overly faked sweet voice filtering through the door. He asked if Yuuri was alright, that he and his wife had brought some cakes for him after his week of trauma. They said they’d wanted to come earlier but saw fit to give him space. Yuuri saw through their lies as easily as he had seen through many others.

 

“You… You don’t mind, do you?” Yuuri asked hesitantly, whispering into the space between them. “The whole town knows what you are now. We’re going to get a lot of people like this.”

 

Viktor cupped his cheek and brought Yuuri down for a quick kiss. “I might have cared once, but not now. I would reveal myself a thousand times more just to make sure you’re safe.”

 

Yuuri grinned harder, his heart beating hard against his chest. “My hero,” he chuckled.

 

“Just as much as you are mine,” Viktor replied.

 

Yuuri hid his face in his hands, unable to stop the smile that broke out, aching his cheeks. His blush deepened on his cheeks. In the background, he heard the knocking stop, someone walking back down his stone path. Peace and quiet reigned outside once more, and Yuuri could relax.

 

He felt Viktor’s grip gently tug on his wrists, pulling his hands from his face.

 

Viktor’s eyes were filled with love, sparkling under the light of the sun, cheeks blushing, lips pulled into a smile that Yuuri never wanted to see leave. They stared at one another like that for a while, Yuuri unable to contain his gratitude that Viktor was here at all.

 

“I love you,” he whispered. He could go into a long description that would make poets jealous, compare his love to the stories of olde, to myths and legends, to compete with the greatest love stories out there. He could spend the rest of his life describing how every inch of his being was filled to the brim with love, how everything on his mind came back to Viktor, how the very air around him was empty if Viktor wasn’t there.

 

And Viktor could do the same. He could compare the life he had now to the lonely walks amongst the forest, to the greater feeling that there must have been more for him, a compelling pull to this town. He originally thought it was because of what he was and what it meant to this place. Now he was sure it was Yuuri, the man he had always been looking for to fill a gap he hadn’t known was there until they met. “And I love you too,” he whispered back.

 

Yuuri felt the tears beginning to press in the corner of his eyes again. He tried to take a deep breath to calm himself, but it came out as a sob. He wiped them away before he could fall. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice higher. “I just… I didn’t think you’d come back. Every day that you were gone, I was more convinced you died.” He chastised himself, feeling like such a baby. He should have been happy. Viktor was before him, fine and well, but he couldn’t forget how he had felt for the past week.

 

Viktor stood and pulled Yuuri from the sofa, hugging him close. Carefully, to no music at all, he began to urge Yuuri into the first few steps of a slow dance. His arms were wrapped around Yuuri’s waist as he pulled Yuuri’s to settle around his neck, so close that their noses could almost touch. He said nothing, just encouraged them to sway in a slow dance in the dark lit room, the birds singing outside, the roar of an engine far off.

 

They stayed silent as Yuuri felt the sobbing leave his body, until his cold skin grew warmth again, and his small tears had gone. Once Yuuri felt calm enough again, Viktor cupped his cheek and pulled him into a soft kiss.

 

Yuuri pushed himself into it, never wanting to let go. He wanted to be here forever. Who really cared about flower crowns? Who cared about money? If he could stay like this forever, he would. He would spend the rest of his life never letting Viktor go.

 

“You don’t ever have to worry again,” Viktor spoke against his lips, drawing Yuuri’s gaze into his own. “I’m going to always stay by you. I’m never going to make you cry again.”

 

“You can’t promise that,” Yuuri said. At Viktor’s confusion, he smiled and said, “I cry when I’m happy too.”

 

Viktor chuckled and pressed their foreheads together. “Then I’ll make you happy cry for the rest of your life.”

 

“Cheesy. And I thought you were from the woods. Where did you learn all of this?” Yuuri pressed a quick peck to the side of Viktor’s mouth, swaying their dance a little harder, imaging the songs in his head and the years to come.

 

Viktor pressed another deep kiss to Yuuri, chasing his lips as Yuuri teased. “From you. You’ve taught me so much, Yuuri. And I can’t wait to spend my life learning more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope all of this fluff makes up for the last two chapters! I felt so happy writing this one, it filled my with fluffy feels and all the comfort :3 haha I added all the kisses and hugs and cuddles just to make up for before 
> 
> With one chapter left now, to be updated on Thursday, this story is very nearly done... This was far shorter than NS and yet I feel just as attached... I hope you liked it! And I promised the happy ending tag was there for a reason! :P 
> 
> For updates, chats and more, you can find me on tumblr 
> 
> [here](https://lanaberryrawr.tumblr.com/)


	10. Calla Lily

Once every month they made hikes through the woods, visiting their favourite places for the day.

 

They spent a few hours of the morning bathed in the pool at the waterfall. The dived into the gleam, feeling the breeze of the wind brush against them as they surfaced once more. A few kisses back in the alcove, hidden behind the cascade of the waterfall. Viktor helped Yuuri create crowns in his hands, showing the younger man the different flowers, how he could change the colour of their petals with a thought. They’d sunbathe in the meadow and watch as the clouds rolled by, the sound of civilisation far away. They’d eat their lunch in the overhang of the river. Viktor was swarmed with trusting creatures, from birds to deer, and in turn introduced them to Yuuri.

 

“You’re like a Disney Princess,” Yuuri had laughed one day, only to become struck with surprise when Viktor didn’t seem to understand. “We’re watching all the films when we get back.”

 

But on their first anniversary, they did something special.

 

It fell on the week before the preparations of the annual Flower Festival. Yuuri had cut off the crown orders sooner than he usually did, opening it sooner, just to be able to clear up one day. Viktor helped with his orders. In their first year, Yuuri had taught the man a lot about crown making, and the Russian had taken to it quickly. He still needed some teaching, from the cutting to the metal work, but Yuuri was prepared for that.

 

For their first anniversary, marking the day that they had met, they left the town.

 

Dewin Oak had become such an important aspect of their lives, they almost forgot there was something outside of it. They didn’t go far, only to the next town over, a calm little seaside town filled with just as many tourists.

 

But the difference was almost immediate.

 

Since Viktor had become known as the flower man, he’d been bombarded with people. Less so as the year came and as the town became used to the idea, but he was still stared at, still watched, still held suspiciously or with wonder. This little seaside town had heard of it, but did not know Viktor. As they walked hand in hand down the promenade, watching the flags of the world flap on their poles against the sea breeze, people passed without a second look.

 

Yuuri glanced over the man, seeing how in the year of his recovery, he’d learned how to hide his flowers again. For months, as he created flowers to rebuild the petals that had burned in the fire, it was difficult to hide himself. There were always petals in his hair, flowers on his skin, marks that pointed him apart from the humans. But slowly, as he healed, it became easier. Now Viktor walked like them, short silver hair flying about his face, cheeks tinged red rather than with petals, blue eyes sparkling.

 

And every time Yuuri saw the man, he fell further in love. The past year had been some of the best days he had ever experienced, their promises to one another to make each one better than the last coming true.

 

They ate lunch in one of the town’s favoured cafes, Viktor remarking, “It’s not quite like Chris’,” with a smile.

 

Viktor and Chris had become close in the past year. As the Swiss had become used to the fact that a flower man walked among them, he dared to tease Viktor. In turn, Viktor teased Chris. They became fast friends, the man often around their house with some wine. Viktor told Yuuri once, in the late night when they lay together, that he had never expected to form such connections when he walked alone in the woods. He’d never expected to fall in love, never expected to have a best friend, never expected to have all the things he had wished for deeply in his heart. Because he was not human. Because he was not like them. He’d cried saying it and Yuuri had held him.

 

Yuuri pulled himself from his thoughts and took a sip of the tea. Viktor was right, it wasn’t quite like Chris’, but he supposed that wasn’t a bad thing. There would only ever be one Chris, as there was only ever one of him, one Viktor, one Yurio, one Dewin Oak. “They have an arcade on the pier,” he told Viktor with a smile. “I challenge you. Who can get the most tickets?”

 

For so long, he had been stressed over crowns, to gain a reputation and become the adult he had wanted to be as a child. But Viktor brought out the child in him, reminded him that there was nothing wrong with that.

 

They battled at the games in the arcade, Yuuri coming out victorious. But they bunched their tickets together and won a stuffed bear. “A perfect model for your crowns,” Viktor had said.

 

Yuuri blushed, reminded of his present for Viktor waiting in his home. Viktor had made this past year beautiful, brightening Yuuri’s life like nothing else ever had. He wanted to get a present just as meaningful, and the idea had come to him late at night a few weeks ago. It was a surprise, and he couldn’t wait to see the man’s reaction.

 

It was late when they found their way back to Dewin Oak, having exhausted themselves in the town over. They changed into their finest clothes and left to attend their reservation at their favourite restaurant, where they toasted with a clink of their champagne filled glasses.

 

“To another wonderful year,” Viktor whispered, his words only for them, eyes gleaming bright with love and light. “And many, many after.”

 

Yuuri could tell the man had thought about the words for a while. And Yuuri had done just the same. “To our lives, to us, to you. To everything that’s to come.”

 

In Viktor’s breast pocket, a pink rose rested. Yuuri had made it himself, helped by Viktor’s hands, when they had been changing. Viktor’s hands underneath his, he’d constructed it from thin air in his palms and slipped it into the pocket, cheeks bright at the sight. In turn, Viktor took an amaryllis from his own body and placed it in Yuuri’s, blooming bright against his dark suit.

 

They drunk to their health, relationship and future. Yuuri might have had more than he wanted to, swaying as they stood up to leave, but just as much as Viktor had.

 

A question he had never thought about was if a flower man could get drunk. Now he knew, seeing the glaze over Viktor’s eyes, the tipsy smile on his lips. They giggled and stumbled their way back home, taking twice the time to reach it.

 

Viktor had his arm around Yuuri’s waist, hugging him close, tripping over each other’s feet. Yuuri took a few attempts to be able to fit his key through the door, almost collapsing inside when it finally opened. In his drunken haze, he knew that there was something he needed to do.

 

He pushed Viktor down onto the sofa, the man not at all fighting back, head tilting to the side as the room spun. Yuuri stumbled back to his room, taking out a box he had hidden for a few weeks from underneath his bed.

 

Viktor smiled up at him when he returned, a box wrapped nicely in his own hands. If Yuuri had been sober, he would have asked when the man got up or where he had received his gift from. But he ignored it to sit beside him.

 

He placed his box nervously down on Viktor’s lap, accepting the gift given to him. “You go first,” he whispered, eager for Viktor to see what he had.

 

Viktor didn’t argue. He took off the lid, opening to see the amount of bubble-wrap and tissue that had been placed as a careful bed. He tore the cover from the gift, eyes wide as he saw what was inside. Nestled in a bed of coloured tissue was a figure, a sibling to the one that still rested on their mantelpiece.

 

Yuuri couldn’t help his heart giving one lurch as he watched the man’s face. Viktor had finally accepted to be a model to Mrs Jones after months of pushing it off. He felt she only wanted him for profit after knowing what he was, despite the promise being made before-hand. But Mrs Jones wasn’t like that, Yuuri knew. He encouraged Viktor to do it. Viktor thought it was just for a pose. Unknown to him, Yuuri had already talked to the woman and paid her for a commission.

 

The figure was modelled after Viktor, his form created down into a tiny figure. His glossy silver hair was immortalised as blowing around his face, his almost-naked body covered in flowers and petals, sitting atop a small boulder – one similar could be found beside the waterfall, a detail he knew only the both of them could understand. His head was turned right, a smile showing all his teeth, cheeks red, eyes wide and happy. Each small part of the figure had been crafted carefully, the blue flower crown on his head tilted a little, hand carefully holding it in place. Each flower that had been stuck on and created solid was a flower Viktor was made of, from orange roses, to amaryllis, to daffodils and more. So many hours had been given to it.

 

Yuuri had almost cried when he first collected it from the old woman. He’d been reluctant to give Viktor something that showed the man what he didn’t want to be. But he trusted the crafter to display how being a flower person wasn’t a bad thing – how it was a part of Viktor, a part he didn’t need to let dictate him. The figure gave that.

 

It showed what Viktor was, flowers painted bright. Yuuri was carried with him in the form of the flower crown, miniature hand holding onto it tightly as he smiled.

 

Viktor stayed silent for a long time, moving the figure to see everything, his expression surprised but not much more. Yuuri waited nervously as he fiddled with his fingers. He’d thought it was a bad idea at the start, but resolved to give it anyway. Over time, with thought, it turned into a good idea. Now he wasn’t so sure. Had he made a mistake?

 

And then Viktor broke out into a smile, holding the figure close against his chest. Small tear drops filtered passed his eyelashes to rest in the corner of his eyes. He stumbled to his feet and placed it carefully beside the first before stepping back.

 

They fit well together, one a legend, and one a beauty. Perhaps it was because Yuuri knew Viktor, but he thought the one styled after him had more life. It seemed to breathe, its smile almost identical to the muse, eyes made as if they could really see.

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor whispered, voice cracking slightly. “Thank you.”

 

Two words, and yet Yuuri knew the meaning behind them. He hugged Viktor tightly from behind, resting his cheek on his back. His heartbeat pumped against Yuuri’s ear. He could say how it was he saw Viktor, but that would be a lie. No figure could ever be able to say how he saw Viktor, would never touch the vast feelings he had. Nothing would be enough.

 

Viktor spun around, Yuuri’s drunken mind catching up slowly, as he felt his face be drawn in hands to look up. Lips touched his, and just like the first time, the kiss shook his core. His skin trembled and he leaned up for more.

 

Before his drunk mind could supply some less-innocent thoughts, Viktor moved to place his box back in Yuuri’s hands.

 

“I hope you like this as much as I liked yours,” he said.

 

Yuuri carefully opened it. The box was light, but something was scratching at the sides of the cardboard. Paper, he thought, but he couldn’t be sure. He opened it to see another bed of red paper, bright in comparison to the two white slips in the middle. It took a moment for him to read what they were.

 

“I’ve been here a long time,” Viktor supplied, whispering beside his ear. “I found what I came here for, and I want to go back for a short trip. And I want to take you with me, to see where I come from.”

 

Atop the red rested two plane tickets to St Petersburg, Russia. The dates were the week after the festival, another anniversary – the day Viktor came back when Yuuri thought he had lost him.

 

“I want you to see my home.”

 

Yuuri carefully closed the box again and placed it on the sofa, feeling more than seeing Viktor’s careful watch of him. He kept his expression straight, until he flung himself at Viktor, a grin on his lips. “I would love to,” he said, feeling his own tears.

 

He cried a lot with Viktor here. As promised, they were always happy tears. Some nights when he couldn’t sleep, he remembered his horrible week of when he thought Viktor was dead. But the man was always beside him, warm against him in the cool night air, and on those nights Yuuri would cry in happiness. It could have turned out so much harder, so much worse.

 

“You have to be sure to show me everything,” Yuuri said, hugging Viktor around his waist. “Where you lived, what you did. I want to know everything.”

 

Viktor grinned back, trying to keep his balance. “Of course. And who knows? Maybe along the way, we could find more like me.”

 

“Did you know any?”

 

“Not well,” Viktor admitted. “But that can be corrected.”

 

Yuuri pressed his face into Viktor’s neck, unable to contain the smiles on his face. “I can’t wait.”

 

Viktor hugged him close. “We need to start packing.”

 

***

 

Yuuri sat in in his study, arranging flowers for the last few crowns he had to make before the Flower Festival. Roses littered his work space, thorns cut and lying to one side. He’d woven the metal earlier with pliers until it perfectly fit the head of the purchaser. Now to just add the filling.

 

He heard something crash in the kitchen but decided to ignore it. Following it was Viktor cursing under his breath, and a rushed whisper. Yuuri placed a rose carefully in his hands, poking the stem through the metal outline until it was perfectly in place.

 

Another crash. He flinched. A petal fell to the floor. He sighed, took a deep breath, and continued. He placed another, this yellow rose settled beside the red, beautiful and bright. He carefully placed that one in. The calming sound of a living stem slotting into iron brought him annual nostalgia. As much stress as he gained this time of year every year, he would not change it for the world. This was where he enjoyed living.

 

Viktor shouted a warning. There was only a second before Yuuri’s door slammed open, the light of the living room seeping into his dimly lit sanctuary. He placed the crown down, knowing it would not get attention any time soon.

 

A bark alerted him to the culprit. He spun in his chair until he could peer down at the puppy. Vicchan was sitting with his tongue lolling from his mouth, head tilted as he cast his eyes at Yuuri. A second later, Viktor came skidding across the wooden floor, a much larger poodle hanging from his arms.

 

“I’m sorry!” Viktor rushed to say. “Makkachin wanted something to eat and while I was getting it for him Vicchan rushed off and I didn’t know until he was crashing through and-”

 

Yuuri halted Viktor’s panic with a chuckle, overcome with the comedy of Viktor, dressed in an apron covered in hearts (an anniversary present from Chris) and his hair a mess, with a massive dog hanging limply at his side. The more he laughed, the more Yuuri couldn’t control himself. He pulled the puppy onto his lap, smoothing his fingers through the soft fur.

 

Yuuri never expected to get a dog, let alone two. He loved pets, but it never occurred to him as something he wanted or needed. In one of their late night talks, Viktor had admitted that he’d watched humans walking dogs through the woods before and liked the idea of one. A few days after their anniversary, they thought about getting one to add to their little family.

 

Of course, they fell in love with Makkachin as soon as they had seen him. And, of course, Makkachin came with a puppy. They could not separate them. So they took the both.

 

The dogs were still settling in, refusing to sleep in the dog beds they had spent money on or hours carefully placing down in the right places. They’d even gotten a “how to care for your dog” book, just to be sure. And of course, nothing in that book helped them for Makkachin and Vicchan.

 

While Makkachin was a little more calm and happy to occupy himself, Vicchan was a ball of energy and demanded attention whenever he could get it. But both could eat their own weight of dog food. The book hadn’t prepared them for how much they had to be buying.

 

It had only been a few days, and yet Yuuri wondered how they ever had a life before the mischief makers. Viktor and Yuuri had fallen in love with them completely. Every evening, when they settled to watch something, the dogs would sleep on their laps. Every morning, they walked as a family through the woods. Yuuri hadn’t had a pet before, but knew how much he could love one. He’d seen how Yurio fretted over Potya, how Phichit loved his hamsters, how Chris doted on his cat. He just hadn’t been prepared with how quickly he fell in love.

 

“It’s fine,” he chuckled, coming down from his laughter. He cupped Vicchan’s face in his palms, smiling down at the puppy. “Are you hungry?” When the puppy tilted his head further, Yuuri asked, “Or do you just want attention?” Vicchan barked, the little voice loud in such a confined space.

 

“I can take him off you, so you can finish the crowns,” Viktor rushed to say, stepping in as he settled Makkachin down. The older dog sat in the threshold, watching them. “Do you need any more flowers? I can make some for you.”

 

Yuuri held the puppy in his arms as he made to stand. “It’s fine, I’m ahead of schedule anyway. I’ll take one into the garden and we can play some fetch.” The puppy barked again at the idea and Yuuri laughed. “I have more than enough flowers, Viktor.” He waved at the pile in the corner, all arranged into type and colour.

 

Viktor liked making flowers, and Yuuri knew he was good at it. The one thing Viktor was not good at, however, was following orders. Yuuri stuck meticulously to the orders that came through, unless there was something wrong with it. As the maker, he had final say. But Viktor would go off without reading it and craft something of his own liking. Yuuri regrettably forbid Viktor from continuing the order crowns. He could, however, make his own.

 

Instead, Viktor created endless flowers to make it up to Yuuri. Now Yuuri had more than he needed, and he knew some would die before he could use them.

 

As they made their way to their back garden, Yuuri grabbed their favourite ball from the table, eliciting an excited yelp from Makkachin.

 

“Alright, boy,” Viktor chuckled, stroking the dog’s head. “We’re going out now.”

 

Now that Yuuri had Viktor, he had cut back some of the garden. He didn’t need so many flowers anymore. It made room for the dogs, where they could run to their heart’s delight. He sat on the bench in the shade, turning part of his attention to the crown still on his lap.

 

Viktor threw the ball across the garden, both poodles rushing to retrieve it first. Makkachin was gentle with the puppy, sometimes allowing him to take it and sometimes playfully taking it away from him. Their barking filled the breezy air, the high sun beating down on them.

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor called. “Watch this!”

 

As he held the ball in his hand, he created petals in his palm, a cushion between the ball and his skin. He conjured the wind and as he threw, the ball levitated on the air just above the dogs, barely a breath away as they jumped to retrieve it. They barked, attempting to call it down. Viktor left it hovering just above their noses. Makkachin seemed to understand it first. He began to bump his head against Viktor’s leg.

 

“Okay, okay,” Viktor chuckled, dropping it for them.

 

Yuuri laughed, turning his attention back to the crown. He wove the roses in, hearing the scuffle of their paws on the grass. Viktor was chuckling, his voice carrying like music. The trees waved beside him.

 

By the time Yuuri was finished, the dogs had been knackered out. They trudged back to the living room where they lay on the cool wooden floor, falling asleep almost immediately.

 

“You really tired them out,” Yuuri said, watching as Vicchan settled between Makkachin’s paws.

 

“I think I tired myself out,” Viktor said as he crashed onto the sofa. Yuuri placed his half-finished crown back in the study before he settled to sit beside Viktor. The older man immediately moved to place his head on Yuuri’s lap, a favourite of his. Yuuri ran a hand through Viktor’s hair.

 

Yuuri broached a subject he had been unsure about for a few days now. “Viktor… are you thinking of going to the Flower Festival this time?” When the man didn’t answer, he rushed to explain, “Just because, you know, everyone now knows what you are and they might start flocking you or expect you to do something for it and I know you don’t want to-”

 

Viktor hushed him with a finger to his lips. “Honestly, I’d have thought you would be the one reluctant to go.”

 

“Me?” When the answer followed soon after, he asked, “Because of what happened last year?” Viktor nodded. “Phichit’s made sure that this time nothing had been left behind. And I’m fine after it. Even Yurio is going.”

 

“I see.”

 

“We don’t have to, you know. This time the tourists are all going to know as well, and you’re going to be stared at, and they’re going to treat you differently.” And if Viktor didn’t want to be reminded of what he was, the Festival was not the best place to be.

 

Viktor smiled up at him, moving away a few strands of Yuuri’s hair from his face. “It’s alright. I’ll go. If I hide forever, they’ll never see me as a part of the town.”

 

Yuuri wanted to argue, but truth be told, he understood. In the year that Viktor had been walking the town, the folk had just begun to treat him as his own person. The first few months had been difficult, many worshipping the ground he walked on. Viktor and Yuuri had been patient, but it became clear that it would never change.

 

But it did. It took a year, but finally Viktor could walk into town by himself, buy them some food or groceries without being hounded. Some treated him as a local, asking how his day had gone. The baker had even asked if he was going to the festival, as he asked everyone else. The town seemed to be forgetting – or no, Yuuri corrected. They hadn’t forgotten. A town based on his myth could never forget. But they were starting to see the man beneath the myth, how similar Viktor was. He’d be just like them if it wasn’t for him being made of flowers. They were finally understanding it.

 

Something that was so untouchable before was now real and they were getting to know it. They could see Viktor, not just the flower man.

 

It was slow progress, and there was still a long way to go. But Viktor was saying the truth. His not being at the Festival would only remind them why it was he wasn’t there, and he would be untouchable again. Perhaps for the first day he would be hounded, but by the third he could walk freely.

 

At least, Yuuri hoped.

 

“Okay,” he gave in. “In that case, we’ll need to let Phichit know. Apparently the council want to hold some sort of tribute to what happened last year.”

 

“But why? No one got hurt.”

 

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile at the innocent question. “Because it’s become such an important part of the year now. It’s the date that the flower man of the forest not only showed himself to the town, but saved two people from a burning garage.”

 

Viktor groaned and closed his eyes. “Can I take it back now? Do I have to go?”

 

Yuuri laughed. “I’m sure you won’t have to attend. They can’t expect you to. We could slip away during it.” Yurio had already expressed his hatred towards the idea when he told Yuuri. The council had asked both Yuris to say something about their experiences, how they had felt, what they saw. Yurio informed Yuuri that he had answered for the both of them. Yuuri knew that it consisted of at least one swear word.

 

“That’ll be on the third day?”

 

“After the float, I think.”

 

“Yeah, let’s slip away.” Viktor threw a smirk up at Yuuri, a flicker in his eye. Yuuri didn’t have time to wonder before he was being pulled forwards, Viktor’s lips pressed against his. “We can sneak away to the waterfall. Just you and me. Alone.”

 

Yuuri’s cheeks blushed bright. “Okay.”

 

***

 

Unsurprisingly, many people came to Viktor during the Flower Festival, locals and tourists alike. Surprisingly, Viktor accepted it and answered as well as he could. He’d smile, answer, and then quell their curiosity. Yuuri kept careful watch, just to make sure that the man was alright. The smiles weren’t fake, but they weren’t the ones Viktor had shown him in their past year.

 

The only people he smiled brightly to were the children that rushed to his attention. A particular little boy dressed in flowers, covered head to toe in floral patterns and a plastic crown, face painted, ran up to Viktor and watched with unabashed awe on his features. A few children had been shy, but followed him and watched from a distance. Viktor knelt and asked the boy who he was. The boy said nothing but moved a little closer.

 

The crowds around them were trying to hide their interest, but Yuuri could see them all watching carefully from the corner of their eyes. They had been doing it all afternoon, wherever Viktor was. He supposed it was only expected.

 

The little boy reached out cautiously and touched Viktor’s skin. Beneath his fingers, Viktor allowed petals to slowly sprout to kiss the touch. The boy gasped but didn’t take his hand back. He continued to caress Viktor’s cheek, childish wonder causing mumbles to leave his mouth.

 

As petals began to tear themselves away from Viktor, caught in the light breeze, the crowd paid more attention. They turned and gasped, watching with wide eyes, a cloud of mutters rising. Their gazes followed the petals as they were swept along the tops of their heads.

 

But Viktor only had his attention on the little boy. Every single time the boy would try to touch them or catch them, Viktor’s smile grew more until he was almost chuckling. He made the boy cup his hands and he created a small daisy, placing it in the little palms. The boy stared down as if he had been granted the world.

 

“You’re so cool,” he whispered, eyes sparkling as he turned his gaze to Viktor.

 

Children rushed from their parents and held out their own hands, requesting their favourite flowers. They waited patiently for Viktor to move through the lines, creating small flowers to place in their palms. They jumped in excitement and rushed to show their mothers and fathers what they had been given. When the last child had been and gone, Yuuri moved to Viktor’s side.

 

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” he said after some hesitation. He’d hoped that Viktor could walk the crowds without drawing attention to himself, to fall in as an inhabitant rather than something to be ogled at.

 

Viktor stood beside him, his smile still planted on his lips. “But they’re just so cute. Did you see how happy they were with the flowers?”

 

Yuuri watched the man’s expression, eyes grazing over every groove, every smooth surface of skin. “Yeah. They were really happy.”

 

Viktor turned his chuckle to Yuuri, eyes alight. “They looked like you when I first showed you how to make flowers.”

 

Yuuri blushed slightly and turned his embarrassed expression away. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t something I was use to.” He took Viktor’s hand to grip his own and they walked towards the food tent, having promised to visit Chris, Yurio and his grandfather.

 

“Now you are though,” Viktor replied, more than happy to be led away by Yuuri.

 

“I swear, Viktor, if I’m woken up by turning on a bunch of flowers one more time, I’m making you sleep in the guest room.”

 

Viktor chuckled again. “You’ve been saying that for a year now.”

 

“I’m serious!”

 

“But I think you look so beautiful waking up with petals on your skin. Especially when they’re _my_ petals.”

 

Yuuri’s blushed grew down to his neck. He wasn’t sure what was so embarrassing about the idea, perhaps it was the way Viktor said it. It had some claiming aspect to it, he thought, if Viktor’s deep voice meant anything. And often times, he slept without any clothes because of their activities before they fell asleep. He’d heard stories about romantic nights amongst rose petals, though he had always thought it was a useless gesture. Perhaps Viktor liked the idea.

 

“Besides,” Viktor continued, his voice back to normal, “I can’t help it. Sometimes I sleep-create flowers.”

 

“Sleep-create?”

 

“Yeah, like sleep-walking or something. I don’t realise I make them either.” He pulled Yuuri close so that they stopped once more in the middle of the street, drawing some eyes towards them. Above, ribbons and fairy lights hung from the rooves, flowers littering every street corner and window. Viktor cupped the side of Yuuri’s face, bringing their faces closer together until their noses touched. “I think it’s because I’m so happy. I wake up with a smile whenever I see you in the morning, sleeping beside me, glowing under the morning light, petals bright against your tanned skin. I make my best flowers when I’m happy, and the ones you wake up to are the some of the best I’ve ever created.”

 

Yuuri bowed his head, his heart pumping so hard it almost burst from his chest. But he couldn’t contain the smile that pulled at his lips. “In that case, I don’t mind-”

 

They were interrupted by a sigh. Georgi stood a little ways away, plaiting flowers into a young girl’s hair. He stared at them wistfully, reminding Yuuri of an old wise man.

 

“Young love,” he said. The girl sitting before him giggled behind her hand, attempting to be subtle. “So beautiful and romantic.”

 

“Hello, Georgi,” Yuuri greeted, trying to hide his red cheeks. “I hope you’re having a good day.” He felt Viktor’s chest shake in laughter.

 

“It’s going well,” Georgi replied, using his trained fingers to plait at such a speed and with precise care. “It’s been a lucrative business. With your crowns and my flower plaits, we’ve made every person here look absolutely stunning.”

 

Yuuri smiled. “Yes, we have.” Pride swelled in his chest. All around him were his creations, many made of the flowers Viktor had made for him. The first Festival in which his crowns had circulated, he’d been a ball of anxiety. Many of his clients were people he knew, and he worried that they only bought his crowns to be some pitying help. But they’d worn them to the festival, worn them with pride, and the next year a trickle of new customers had come. Now, he was in high demand, having to place a limit on his order numbers to be able to keep up with that demand. There was rarely a second that he spent in the festival that he didn’t walk by a customer. He waved to Georgi, explaining, “We have someone to see, so we need to be off. See you again soon.”

 

The man waved goodbye, and Yuuri took hold of Viktor once more. Chris’ head was easy to see above the crowd of the food tent. Another creation of Yuuri’s was resting on his head, this time a mix of greens and yellows. Chris was always one of his first customers. Beside him, a lanky Yurio stood, hands in his pockets. He’d been steadily going through a growth spurt in the past year, filling out his favourite leopard print clothes. He was almost as tall as Yuuri now, and he claimed he would be taller than Viktor one day.

 

Yuuri wasn’t sure how it happened, but they moved from greeting to helping out with the stall in a matter of only a few minutes. He had been helped into an apron by Chris and asked to help clean some of the mugs once they came back.  And with Viktor helping behind the stall, it was a record-breaking amount of sales.

 

***

 

Yuuri felt like a teenager again. As they watched the float being prepared, their places in the crowd picked out, he held tightly onto Viktor’s hand. He could barely contain the adrenaline seeping into his blood, or the smile that was trying to break through on his face.

 

Phichit had confirmed that they were holding some sort of tribute event during the floats – to commemorate the blessing they had been bestowed this time last year.

 

Yurio could not be seen in the crowd. He’d been asked to say a few words of his experience, but had refused. He was probably back in his house, Yuuri thought, playing some games on his console with the friend he had made – a tourist, by the name of Otabek, Yuuri thought. A boy that was uninterested in what had happened to Yurio beyond a few words, or his connection to the famed mythical man of the forest.

 

Yuuri had been asked to say a few words too – he’d refused as well. But Phichit had whispered to him that the council were planning on pushing him into it anyway if they saw him among the crowd. They wanted their tribute, they wanted their tourists. And they wanted Yuuri and Viktor to be among the festivities.

 

Viktor had proposed another idea. Yuuri had agreed to it.

 

As the float began to trail through the streets, this year’s Flower Royals donned in their best clothes, balloons released into the open air and cheers following, Yuuri gripped Viktor’s hand tighter. The float was decorated to the theme of love, hearts made of roses glued to the back. The crowds at the front cheered at the sight, holding their own heart shaped balloons in their hands. Children pushed to the front to witness as the float moved slowly on the cobblestones, the Royals waving to the crowd of mixed familiar and strange faces.

 

To his right, he saw a man beginning to cut through the crowd. He recognised him as the son of one of the council head members. A nosy idiot, Yuuri thought, one of the few who had attempted to worm his way into Yuuri’s and Viktor’s lives as if he had a place. Beside him Viktor gripped his hand tighter in turn.

 

Yuuri felt the adrenaline pulse inside of him. He heard his name mentioned through the speakers, but the words weren’t connecting. His mind could not make sense of them as he saw the man beginning to gain ground, pushing passed the tourists, eyes set on Yuuri.

 

The crowds were turning to look at him, and he suspected that his name had been mentioned in the story of what had happened last year. Viktor’s name filtered through as well. He felt the man flinch in readiness beside him.

 

There was a second of silence, a second as Yuuri turned his body ready.

 

“On ‘go’,” Viktor said, a hint of excitement in his voice.

 

“Okay,” Yuuri agreed. Excitement of his own lacing his every move.

 

The announcer was still speaking as the float drove passed them. The man was getting closer, so close that he was beginning to reach out his hand to grab onto Yuuri. The council had been worried he would slink away before they could get their attention, their story. But he’d wanted to see the start of the float, to let Viktor see what he had missed last year so that they could overwrite some of the pain. So they’d agreed to see a bit and then slink away unnoticed. Of course, plans changed.

 

“Go!” Viktor whispered, a chuckle almost bursting out.

 

Yuuri felt Viktor tug on his hand, and a second later they were running through the crowd, through a path that had moved aside for them. The forms passed in a blur, the wind breezing over their head. He heard their chaser shout something behind him, but he continued.

 

They breached the end of the crowd and ran down the streets, away from the festival, a backdrop of heart balloons lifting into the middy sky. They didn’t stop until they got home. They quickly gathered their dogs, knowing that people would search for them there, and ran along the hiking trail to their favourite place.

 

The sound of the festival slipped further away. The branches of the trees battled above them, leaves hovering in the air until they landed softly on the damp ground. They chased their dogs to the waterfall, a much shorter travel time now that they knew a direct path. It was just as beautiful every time they saw it, magical in its openness. The waves crashed across the rocks, dripping in the afternoon light.

 

Makkachin was the first in, jumping as soon as the collar was removed. His splash crashed onto the puppy, Vicchan more hesitant.

 

Yuuri removed his clothes until he was in his boxers, jumping in and easing the puppy into the shallow with him. He stroked Vicchan until he was comfortable, almost wanting to ease into the deeper end. Across the pool, Viktor was watching as Makkachin circled around him, kicking up water with every stroke.

 

Yuuri couldn’t help but stare, a smile bright on his lips. The sparkle of the water could almost blind him, birds flying down from the trees to watch. Their dogs barked and swam, Viktor playing by hovering some petals above their heads.

 

Yuuri watched with more love in his heart than he thought he was capable of. He’d never realised how alone he’d been until Viktor came along, and Viktor had never realised how much he wanted to be a part of humanity until he met Yuuri.

 

Yuuri swam to the man, cupping his face in his hands. Below the afternoon light, Viktor shone like the treasure he was. Yuuri thought back to how they met, how his life changed from the quiet routine. The flower form he had seen between the trees, how Viktor had watched him with child-like amazement. How he’d fallen in love with a myth.

 

Viktor closed the distance, pressing a mind-blowing and soft kiss to his lips. Vicchan and Makkachin chased one another around them, the sound only just reaching Yuuri. Viktor however, was immersed in his kiss, smiling against Yuuri as he remembered how many years he had walked these woods alone, sat here wondering if there was more to life than being what humans idolised.

 

Yuuri couldn’t wait to spend the rest of their lives together if it was to be anything like this last year. And Viktor couldn’t wait to treasure Yuuri for the saviour he was to him. Until Yuuri grew old with his years, and Viktor’s petals began to wilt.

 

Until then and beyond. Forever and always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it, the end of Gathering Petals. Thank you all for the support! I know I wouldn't have been able to come this far, with two finished stories on here, without all of the constructive criticisms and the supportive words. Thank you so much! Once again, I'm totally not crying after having finished another milestone. 
> 
> I originally aimed to create stories on this account as a way to better myself in writing, as it is something I'd like to take further in future years. At the advice of my tutor, I began to write fanfiction in order to gain the experience and the weekly comments to make this a goal. Also, to teach myself commitment and determination. Thank you to everyone, because I feel like I have definitely grown in doing this and it's all because of people who read my stories. So thank you, thank you, and thank you a thousand times more! 
> 
> I have more projects planned, and I will continue to write until I lose this love (which I don't see happening for a long time). If anyone is interested in those, or for updates, you can find me on tumblr 
> 
> [here](https://lanaberryrawr.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you all so much! I hope you enjoyed reading.


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